


Apocalypse of the Damned

by The_Insanely_insecure_Jared_Kleinman



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: A lot of Flashbacks, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Boyf reinds, Crossover, Drug Use, Eventually a happy ending, Happy Ending, M/M, Sorta a crossover, This Is Sad, Trans Michael Mell, abuse of the horizontal line feature, for like one chapter, gonnor connor, i can't help but kill those i love, i didnt dialogue for the squip because i fucking hate him, this is mostly a bmc fic, transphobic mom, why is there no zombie aus? this is the boys were talking about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-17 12:50:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12366156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Insanely_insecure_Jared_Kleinman/pseuds/The_Insanely_insecure_Jared_Kleinman
Summary: It was customary for best friends to have a 'In-case-of-a-zombie-apocalypse' plan. Michael and Jeremy had theirs planned out before they finished elementary school. But what would they do if one of them didn't make it? Could Jeremy take on their wildest dreams without his player one? (the answer is yes, but not very well.)





	1. Level One : I Would Not Need Any Tips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IanThomasTaylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IanThomasTaylor/gifts).



> Hey! So this has been in the works for a while, and I'm glad to say it's finally ready to be shared. I personally related the bmc story because of all the friendship trauma, and I wanted to make something that felt like authentic healing, and i sincerely hope that you guys enjoy!-Danni

Somethings were constant in Jeremy's life, like the fact that he could still hear the echoing of the squips voice trying to correct his posture, or the fact that, even though this was supposed to be his area of expertise, life continued to shit on him. 

The rules of the game were still the same; turn off all lights, stay low and on your feet, keep a close range weapon always ready, and stick to your partner like glue. Jeremy was phenomenal at following these simple rules, and had taught the other scouters to do the same. 

It was safer for the seven of them to go out and look for supplies rather than any available adult. One, they were teenagers, having the speed and energy of a child, with (almost as much) the patience and intelligence of an adult. Two, they were all  _ sorta _ friends? Honestly Jeremy was _ pretty sure _ they were, and they made a pretty good team. Then again, he was sure of a lot of things. Three and most importantly, while they could still get ripped up by the undead like any other living thing, if they managed to escape alive with no more than a bite wound, that's all it would be: a wound. Nothing more, nothing less.

Their peculiar (and oddly close range. Why would so many immune people be from the same city?) immunity is what landed them (and what is left of their families) a safe and guarded place to stay at the Memorial Hospital, where they could be examined in a relatively safe environment. 

Although, Jeremy counted the days that might last. The hospital sent out search groups (made up of the adults, thankfully. Jeremy was fine with seeing the dead with faces rearranged and limbs bent awkwardly, but a live person that fucked up? There's no way in hell.) to go find any injured survivors. Sure, they wouldn't bring anybody bitten into the building, but that hasn't stopped them from bringing in a couple of fresh amputees and they all knew what had been on that missing limb. 

Jeremy would agree that yes, these people were savable and they have newly rehabilitated people leaving the doors every morning. He knew they were doing the right thing, but he wished they would do the right thing, away from him and his dad in case things went south. 

It was pointless, the more he thought about it. They find these people, help them, use supplies to heal them, and then send them out only to have them return a few weeks later. They might as well be throwing supplies out the window. He wouldn't complain though, it took the end of the world, but his dad finally has a job that he’s proud of. Dad loved to lead a group through the city, and when he would come home covered in someone else's blood and a proud grin, Jeremy couldn't tell him that this whole setup was bound to blow up in their face. 

That should probably be another rule; always act as if the worst thing is going to happen. 

But he left every morning to search for more survivors like clock work and Rich would usually be sent to work in the healing facility when Dad returned. 

Rich had been staying with Jeremy and his Dad up in their living quarters on the top floor. Richs dad had bitten a unhealthy heaping of his older brother, and the hospital found Rich delirious from malnutrition and lack of sleep with a healing bite wound. He was immediately offered a place to stay at the hospital, and upon arriving, had clung to the first familiar person he saw; Jeremy. 

As the weeks passed, more familiar faces filtered in. Jake, with his parents still missing, moved in with Rich and the Heeres. Jenna and her mother lived next door. Christine and her two younger siblings lived across the hall. Chloe and her grandmother (a wonderful woman who would alway have a crowd around her during dinner to listen to her crazy dementia tales) lived a few doors down. And then Brooke, who they found curled up in a dumpster waiting for the bite on her ankle to overtake her, but it never did. She had expected to be teased about it, but everyone was still trying to climb out of the lowest time they've been in life. None of them were found in good condition.

Things weren't necessarily fantastic, but they were getting better. And the knew what had stopped them from turning, hell it was the only thing the seven teenagers had in common. Rich had found the whole thing hilarious, stating how glad that overpriced ibuprofen was actually good for something. He then proceeded to try to explain what it was to one of the doctors; albeit his words were unnervingly similar to what Jeremy had heard in the bathroom last year. It took quite a bit of convincing, but the doctor eventually bought it and gave them a month deadline to break into Payless via the mall to see if anymore were spared . None of them were necessarily comfortable with the idea of administering the squip like some sort of vaccine, but to be fair, people would rather deal with disembodied voices than, you know, death.

* * *

 

Rich and Jake idly discussed which mall entrance would be closer to Payless while Jeremy twists the handmade bracelet around his wrist, trying to read the page in his book again. He just couldn't focus today.  He had been so close to just rolling over this morning and calling it a day. 

Seemingly reading his mind, Rich perks up from his conversation to shout “Happy Birthday!” across the room.

Well, he  _ almost  _ read Jeremy's mind.

“Don't get butthurt, we didn't forget.” Jake adds, and Jeremy nods to himself because, yeah, they did forget. It's not his birthday.

“It's not my-” Jeremy tries to argue.

“Can't lie to us. Okay, we’ll admit, we forgot, but your dad made this bomb ass cake. Its sitting on the counter.” Rich grins and Jeremy twists his bracelet tight enough to leave marks on his skin.

“It's not my birthday.” He insists and he glares down at his bracelet, remembering how he wished the one he made looked almost as good. 

“Then what's with the birthday cake?” Jake says just before Rich catches on and nudges his friend to drop the subject.

And great, now everything is awkward. Jeremy's just that emotional baggage friend.

“He wouldn't want you to be upset like this.” Rich says quietly. Rich hadn't known him personally, but it was one of the things he could say for sure. And Jeremy knew he was right, but Jeremy has spent so long putting this whole thing on the back burner because he wanted to leave everything behind when he moved into the hospital. It was supposed to be better here, but instead everything that had went wrong was marinating his brain and  _ he was still stuck back home _ . 

Hell, he knew Rich was right. He wouldn't have wanted Jeremy to be upset about this. He never did, but he wasn't exactly around to just make everything better. He wasn't there to pull Jeremy out of his funk and turn off the back burner, and while Rich and Jake would try, they still didn't have the bond needed to do it. And now the backburner was boiling over and all he could think about was how Michael was alive last year. They spent his birthday alone at the park because Michael's parents were arguing on which name to put on the cake, and how Jeremy promised that his eighteenth would be better, because ‘ _ how else could it be worse than this?’  _ but now he’s sitting on his bed, crying because his dad made Michael a birthday cake. It’s worse, way worse. 

He’s laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Rich and Jake laid on either side of him pressing their shoulders against his silently, as to send their condolences. Jeremy silently makes another rule; never get stuck on someone who is already dead. Jake speaks up. 

   “What was he like?” and it's a stark contrast from Rich's silent comfort. Or maybe it wasn't supposed to be comfort at all. Jeremy wasn't upset over something trivial, he was upset over a real person and, the best way to heal from that it let himself hurt. He knew he couldn't forget Michael, so trying to do so was pointless. He needed to remember him and then let him go, and just maybe he would heal from this. 

Maybe he didn't want to heal from this, and he didn't want to let Michael go. He just wanted to be in his bean bag chair next to Michael in his basement where they both belonged. He was nothing without Michael, he was wasn't even half of Michael's whole. Hell, the only reason Jeremy alive right now is because Micheal supported him regardless of how much pain it would bring both of them. Because he wanted Jeremy happy, he tried his best when Jeremy knocked him down.  _ Every single time _ Michael held out for the other, dealing with the pain brought to him. Michael's saved his ass multiple times, and where was  _ Jeremy _ when the world went to hell, when Michael met his demise?

“A home I didn't earn.” Jeremy says quietly, not sure if the other boys even understood what he meant, He kinda hoped they didn't. 

And yeah, Jeremy's crying full force again, but none of them say a word about it. 

They speaker from the ceiling comes to life, speaking a ‘Richard Goranski and Jenna Rollins, please come down to the medical bay, your assistance is needed. Richard Goranski and Jenna Rolling.’ through a wave of static before it shuts off.

“Short staffed again?” Jake muttered as Rich sits up. Jeremy already misses the pressure the two of them provided. Now it just feels weird with Jake beside him. 

“Yep, they probably found another survivor.” Rich shrugs as he starts to pull on his shoes. 

“You’d think they’d learn how to pronounce your name considering how much they call you.” Jeremy says, subconsciously leaning away from Jakes weight.

Rich shoots a look as if to say ‘don't I know it’ before he slips out the door.

Jake sits up, getting the memo, before looking at a family photo he had snagged before he had left home. Jeremy felt for him, he really did. At least Jeremy was sure Michael wasn't out there anymore, but Jake has to live with the not knowing. He tries to ignore the way he perks up everytime they call Rich down to the infirmary because they all know it's stupid to hope, but Jake just can't help himself sometimes. And everytime Rich comes back, he has to explain that he doesn't know for sure yet because nurse's aids aren't aloud in intensive care rooms to answer a silent question and climbs into Jake's bunk when he cries himself to sleep.

 

Rich comes back in twenty minutes till midnight with Dad in tow. And silently they circle the cake as Mr.Heere lights the eighteen candles. They all mumble along to the lyrics of Happy Birthday, and Jeremy has to choke down a sob when his dad squeezes his hand tight. Mr. Heere does his best to hide the wavering in his voice when he asks Jeremy to blow out the candles.

None of them cut into it, and none of them cover it up. They just leave it to sit out in the counter as they all file to bed. 

 

“I don't want to get anybodies hopes up.” Rich said into the darkness, curled around his blankets and Jake in the bunk above Jeremy. They all try to ignore how Jake stiffens at the phrase. “It was another intensive care patient. They were in a car crash, I think I heard. They were heading in from out of town.”

“Who in their right mind heads  _ into  _ the city?” Jeremy speaks up. He knows where this is going. 

“I don't know who it is, but it's someone relevant, I haven't seen the doctors so worked up since they found Christine's little brother.” 

Yeah, he remembered that. They wouldn't let anyone know who it was until they were certain they would make it. The boy was bitten after all, and letting the whole building know they had let infected in was not in their best interest. Luckily, they had served the kids arm in time and used several weeks of supplies, and the kid had pulled through. 

“What about Chloe's grandmother?” Jake whispered. She had only been found a little over a month ago and he remembered Rich complaining about the doctors then to, but they weren't as bad. 

“She also wasn't bit.” Rich said next and it answered what both boys had been thinking. “The doctors wouldn't wear gloves up to their elbows if they weren't, but I don't think they can amputate the bite.” 

Jeremy feels one of the boys roll over above him. 

“Boss lady is probably going to have a meeting tomorrow about getting those squips.” Rich sighs. He's been doing most of the talking but that's how they prefer it. “It's just-we need to get ahold of the Mountain Dew Red if they do administer it. They're going to need it to survive, not to run their life.” 

“Michael's room.” Jeremy blurts. 

“Hmm?”

“He kept a stash under his bed. Just in case, y’know?” God dammit, pull yourself together Heere, you're cried enough today. 

“Even now, he's still saving all our asses.” Jake laughs at the irony of it all and Jeremy can't help but to smile through the tears. 

“We could split up probably; you guys could go grab the squips and I'll go to his house.”

“What? No, remember the buddy pack.” Rich reminded and Jeremy couldn't give two shits less about buddy pack. “It was your rule remember?” 

Yeah, he remembers. They had paired off; Jenna and Cristine, Jake and Rich, Chloe and Brooke, and then Jeremy without his player one. 

“It's something I should do alone.” Jeremy says instead. “I need to say bye.” 

“That would be good for you.” Jake says. 

“We'll figure it out during the meeting.” Rich doesn't seem sold on the idea, but he let's it go. 

 

They fall into silence, but it's painfully obvious no-one has fallen asleep. They're just pretending to be asleep like a bunch of elementary kids during nap time. 

“Okay, how about something a little happier to think about before going to sleep.” Rich speaks up and Jeremy is sure Rich was the kind of kid who talked all during nap time. “What did you wish for, J?” 

“Wish for?”

“When you blew out the candles. You’re supposed to make a wish, don't tell me you didn't.”

Jake has stayed awfully quiet through this conversation. Probably stuck thinking about the new survivor, but neither call him out on it. 

“What-no, no. I did.”

“Well?”

“I wished it was quick when Michael passed.”

“God dammit.”


	2. Level Two : The Suburbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some Michael Jeremy bonding time bc this is boyf fic after all <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mild drug use (first time getting high always sucks) also the summery is greatly misleading

Rich was right when he said there was probably going to be a meeting the next morning, and it was short and to the point like ‘Boss Lady’ usually was, and despite Rich's complaints, it had came to a consensus that while they did need to get the Mountain Dew Red, it was in an area that had been evacuated early on while the Mall would need the most attention if they wanted to return in one piece. So they could only spare one to go get the drinks and there was no arguing that Jeremy would be best for the job.

* * *

 

That's how he found himself on Michaels doorstep, alone and very sick to his stomach. Every part of him wanted to pretend that nothing changed and he was just coming by to hang out with Michael. Every part of him missed Michael too much it was obvious that it was just a charade.

Michael had disappeared as quick as the whole world going to shit rolled in. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Jeremy had a normal life before all of this. He’s terrified that Michael will fade along with his memories of living rather than surviving. Michael was never a part of this fucked up world. He can be glad for that. Michael was just another number to the mass of deaths at the beginning of this shit storm.

He kicks the doormat up, seeing Michael do it a thousand times before, and there was the key sitting plain as day under the welcome mat.

He steps in the house. Nothing and everything has changed. The walls were still marked up from where Michaels younger sister had drew on them, and the furniture in the foyer was as dusty as it's always been. But there was no sound of Michaels mother destroying something in the kitchen, and the always beautiful flowers on the dining room table were wilting.

He remembers at one time, thinking that if only his mother took as much care of Michael as she did with her table centerpiece, Michael would be far happier. But now the flowers are a dried brown just slowly turning to dust with no one to care for them and Michael was even further gone. 

He detours to the basement first and their beanbags are still crumpled from the when they sat in them months ago. Jeremy desperately wants to relive that fantasy but can't bring himself to ruin the beanbags form when they've preserved their last time here so well. That was something for past life Jeremy to do. He sits between them instead and stares into the black tv screen ahead.

* * *

 

Michael had talked Jeremy into staying the weekend (it wasn’t all that hard, honestly, Jeremy doesn't understand why Michael makes up reasons for them to hang out when he could just ask) with the promise of some surprise.

Jeremy had walked in without knocking on the door and Mr. Mell greets him from the living room loud enough to cue the rushed foot steps of a junior high kid racing down the stairs from his room.  

Michael doesn’t greet Jeremy, he just nods in a way that says ‘let’s get out of here’.

Michael pulls the bag off Jeremy's shoulder and leads them downstairs rather than up. Jeremy's been downstairs before, though it was to escort Michael when his mom had asked him to grab another bag of flour from the shelves in the basement that creaked in the dim lighting. All of the scary video games in the world could not prepare them for Michaels basement, but now they were descending the stairs willingly.

Instead of creaking shelves, there were posters covering the dingy walls, Michaels desk in one corner and his bed in the other, but what really got his attention was Michael's old tv mounted on the wall behind two brand new bean bag chairs.

“Pretty awesome, right?  Mom said I was too old to share a room with Ellie so dad helped me set up this!” He grinned, proud of his dimly lit room. Jeremy was only vaguely aware that it was to separate him from his younger siblings at the time.

“Hell yeah, its awsome!” and Jeremy agreed wholeheartedly. He’d rather Michael be separated from his mother any day.

* * *

 

Jeremy stands from his spot between the bean bags.

The bed tucked in the corner was still unmade, and the maroon comforter was half sprawled out on the floor. Jeremy hesitantly sits on the edge of the mattress, and for a moment he can just pretend nothing has changed. There is no light in the spacious basement other than the light falling in through the short windows close to the ceiling. Michael preferred it this dim anyways, and said it was to show off the glow in the dark stars taped to the ceiling. Jeremy was half way convinced that Michael was still trying to teach himself to see in the dark. Michael had admitted to it once during their weird psychological talks at 3am, and proceeded to deny it in the morning. Jeremy had bought him some cool night vision goggles their friendaversary anyways.

His old radio sitting up in the window was softly playing static, and that was the reminder that what all went on here would never happen again. This room would be nothing more than a memory, just like Michael.

Even with the shallow hope that the world would return to sanity, Michael could never return with it.

* * *

 

Michael had signed up for robotics class solely for the purpose of learning how to build a solar powered battery. Jeremy (and Michael's mother) insisted that it would be so much easier to buy one instead, but Michael was sold on the idea of doing it himself. 

And he did do it himself, even if it took the majority of first semester to figure out, and the rest of second semester to build, he did it. He did it only for the fact that his mother wouldn't let him keep his radio on because it would waste electricity. He was insistent that keeping that a radio playing music softly in the background was part of the atmosphere he was trying to put together. (He had spent over 50 dollars on string lights for the cause as well. Even if he never turned them on because it would ruin any progress he had made to becoming a creature of the night with night vision. )

Jeremy knew it was because Michael couldn't stand to be in a silent room, and especially couldn't fall asleep in one. Jeremy had downloaded a radio app onto his phone specifically for the occasion if Michael stayed at Jeremy's house instead.  

* * *

 

Jeremy blinked, his eyes dozing over the dusty radio sitting in the windowsill out of reach without a step ladder. He lays down, trying to nurse the oncoming headache away. Breath in, breath out. He's here. He's in the now. The now where the only thing with an electric current is the hospital generators and Michael's radio in the window. The now where having a spuip is not such a bad thing anymore. The now where, once he leaves Michael's basement, he's probably never going to have the chance to come back.

Once he leaves, all that's left is let Michael and this haven will fade from his memory. He wonders how long it will take. How many more birthday cakes will his dad make until the date just slips from their minds? He wonders if he’ll live long enough to be okay with that.

He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes as a last chance to inscribe this room to his unreliable memory. The smell, the sound of the radio, the creak of the old mattress. He wishes that it’ll come to him in a dream, even if he can’t place where he is, he hopes it still provides the same reminiscent feeling. He reaches a lazy arm under the bed and grabs blindly through the dirty clothes Michael had shoved under there. 

His hand finds a small tin first. Michael's weed stash. He debates whether or not to take it. It's not like anyone else would use it, and he doubts this stuff lasts forever. Embarrassingly enough, Jeremy had no idea how to 'pack a bowl' or 'roll a blunt'. He just smoked whatever Michael passed to him. It wasn't necessarily Jeremy's hobby, and he has never gotten the blissful happy lightheaded feeling without Michael. He figures Michael wouldn't mind and he pockets the tin. Rich probably knew how to set this stuff up.

* * *

 

“Promise not to freak out?” Michael says warily, holding some sort of rod. Jeremy is sure that has something to do with why he was about to freak out, but they both knew Jeremy wouldn’t know what it was until Michael told him. “You don’t have to if you don’t want. I just thought you might.” Michael shifts his weight. Jeremy is starting to get an idea where this was going.

“What is it?” Jeremy asks, already sure that if Michael thinks he want’s to do it, then Jeremy's going to do it.

“Marijuana.” Michael says and he waits for a reaction. 

“Where- how did you even get that? Isn’t it illegal?” Jeremy asks, and Michael nods.

“Yeah, my bro got a- look this is stupid.”

“No! No, I mean, if you want me to try it, I can.” Jeremy quickly amends before Michael can backtrack. God, Jeremy is weak.

Michael lights the end of it a lot like a cigarette and then puts it to his lips exactly like a cigarette. He hands it to Jeremy, and smoke is billowing out of his mouth with a cough. Michaels coughing fit damaged Jeremy's confidence. Jeremy does his best to follow Michael's earlier menstrations anyways, and good god does his throat burn. He coughs so much he’s drooling at the mouth despite the painful constriction in his throat.

“Here, here.” Michaels is goofily smiling as he hands Jeremy a bottle of water.

Jeremy downs it, but it feels as though it passed right through without soothing his throat in the slightest.

He idly watches Michael take another hit and takes the offered blunt from him despite the pain. 

He wants to lay down.

Oh, wow he’s already on the floor. He thinks he feels light headed or maybe that was just a headache. 

Huh. 

There’s a long stream of smoke spilling from Michaels lips and he’s laughing instead of coughing. 

Michael lays next to him, grinning and offering the blunt back to Jeremy.

“Last hit, I don’t want to overwhelm ya.” Michael says as Jeremy tries to take in as much as he can. 

Jeremy already feels overwhelmed. 

His throat hurts less and less the more he sucks in smoke.

He thinks it’ll work better than water. 

He rolls over to face Michael and their noses bump. 

Michael takes the weed from Jeremy's hands and fills his head with smoke before blowing toward Jeremy. 

He laughs and then Michael laughs. 

Jeremy feels his headache ease away and he slings a leg over Michael's hip.

Michael snorts laughter like there’s some sort of inside joke, and Jeremy wonders what it is.

Whatever it is, it’s funny because he’s laughing as well. 

Michael fills his lungs once more, moving to face Jeremy closer and give him to same smoke face treatment, but Jeremy decides that Michaels smoke goes down easier and maybe Michael is better for his throat than the smoke. 

So he kisses Michael, sucking the smoke from his mouth. 

There were plenty more that followed. Some with and some without smoke. Until they fell asleep tangled together on Michaels basement floor. And then the day ended along with the courage to acknowledge what had happened that night.

* * *

 

He dug back under the bed and, ah there they were. Three bottles of Mountain Dew Red. Not exactly an endless stash, but enough to get 'possibly Jake's parents' by.

He sits up and the sound of the mattress creaking is all too familiar.

* * *

 

Michael wasn't an early riser,  _ by far _ . If he were to have his way, he'd sleep in until late noon. Fortunately for his sleeping schedule, he wasn't allowed his way often. But there were nights where sleep just wouldn't come to him until the sun rose and washed away every scary thought. Those nights where the ones he often gave up on the idea of sleep around four or five and just nurse off if his mother's instant coffee when she wasn't looking. He would just run on caffeine and hope for better results the next night. 

That's what he had explained to Jeremy when Michael had woken Jeremy with that telltale creak around four or five in the morning. Jeremy had spent a good portion of his allowance exposing Michael to Starbucks, _ and sugar, creamer, and anything else that makes coffee enjoyable _ by extension, the next day.

* * *

 

Jeremy forces his feet to the staircase. He wasn't sure if he could just let it go. He was so afraid of forgetting. After the whole squip. incident he had promised to never forget Michael. He promised to be there if Michael ever needed him. Leaving the basement meant leaving Michael behind. Leaving the basement meant letting Michael fade into just a fond memory until he remembered Michael as much as he remembered his mother. He could only remember his mother's face in nightmares after he had Taco Bell past ten.

And there was no way to get Taco Bell now.

God, he just wanted to go back. He wanted one more night of rage quitting and Michael giving him a hard time about it. He would relive it all just so he wouldn't wind up in this shitty plot line. 

He takes the first step, and he feels his heart shutter in his rib cage. It was a shame it wasn't his heart despite it all. It would make this so much easier if his heart wasn't lost somewhere in Maryland. 

He takes the second step, and he's shaking. His body is fighting him, and every part of him is screaming to just go back down and roll up in bed until he's nothing but a pile of bones. He should be grateful that he is alive and safe, but sometimes he's not sure if he wants that.

He takes the third step because he has people counting on him. He didn't do it for himself. He doesn't think he has any self preservation left in him.

He takes the fourth step and he feels so empty inside. All that's left of him is rotting downstairs with the rest of the memories.

He takes the fifth step and wonders how he feels this heavy if he's void of everything.

He takes the sixth step, then the seventh, and then another until he's reached the top of the stairs.  

He takes a family photo on his way out and promises Michael he will be back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: makes a fic as a gift  
> Also me: makes it the saddest fucking thing i ever made  
> 


	3. Level Three : The Car Wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For what it counts, I'm sorry for this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry

He takes the trek back to the rendezvous point lost in his own head. Otherwise, it was boring, uneventful and tedious more than anything else. He knew there were people out here, he just wandered why they were hiding. The surrounding medical district was as free of the dead as it could get it. It would provide a safe haven for any survivor, but the area was abandoned by living as much as by the dead.

He pries the doors open to an old doctors office with the sign missing. It wasn't the most ideal rendezvous spot, but his vote counted for less than twenty percent of the decision and, as per usual, he was out voted. 

Apparently waiting rooms are just as comfortable after the end of the world just as much as the day they're put together. Which is none at all. He tries to stretch his legs to the chair across the walkway. Curse his average length legs. But fuck, what the hell was this chair made out of? Cement? 

He pulls a small pocket knife from his back pocket and digs the blade into the cushion next to him. With a twist he pulls out a handful of mysterious yellow cushion. Hmm.

He jumps when the door swings open and the remaining crew wander in, talking to each other excitedly. 

"How did everything go?" Jeremy shyly tucks the knife back in his pocket and hopes he doesn't come off as a destructive junior high kid. 

"As good as it could." Jake shrugs, and his shoulders sag after the gesture. It's been a long day for him.

"There was six left. Took us forever to find them, but..." Rich says and his composure is a stark contrast to Jake. "Found these bad boys over by Spencer's." Rich opens his bag to show off a bag full of Mountain Dew Red, and Jake pulls the bag off of his shoulders to reveal the same thing. 

"So are you going to tell him the real news or will I have to?" Jenna grinned behind the group. Rich made a grand gesture with his hand as if to say 'after you'. Her smile was probably the brightest thing in the room at that moment. "So I was snooping about the nurses desk trying to get some dets on who this mystery patient is, and I over heard Mr.Heere giving the ‘Boss Lady’ the incident report." She struggles around her bag to pull out a tiny slip of paper with an address scribbled on it. "I know where the wreck is, and it's not too far from here. I don't think we'll have another chance, they're supposed to clear the wreckage by the end of this week. So, who's in?" 

"Wait, why would they take the time to clear the wreckage? There's abandoned car wrecks all over the place." Christine reasoned.  

They all watch Jenna grimace. "Well, there might be a casualty? There was discussion about a proper burial. I mean the car wound up halfway under a bridge. They're lucky it's drought season." Jenna defended. 

"Jenna! We're talking about real people here!" Christine corrected before sending a sympathetic look to Jake, who looked away. 

"I'll stay here, yeah?" Jake looked dejected as he took the uncut seat next to Jeremy. 

"I'll hang around here too." Rich glances between Jeremy and Jake; a silent question for him to go. Jeremy stands and Jake pulls a folded piece of paper from between the many bottle of Mountain Dew. 

"Here." He mumbles as Jeremy unfolds it. 

It was an order list. It was a list of names next to a variety of discontinued junk food next to another list of names. Automatically his eyes scan down to the Ms and then to two Mell on the list.  

Mell M. - 20 20oz Mountain Dew Red                  $40

Mell M. - 2 Wonder Ball Disney                            $20

Jeremy wanted to laugh.

* * *

 

"Are you telling me you've never had a wonder ball?" Michael looked insulted, and Jeremy was about to take back whatever he said, but he wasn't sure what had upset Michael.

It was his friends inexperience with childhood wonder was what.

"No, what is it?"

"Its-well uh, it's-  _ wonder  _ that's what is is!" Michael waved his arms as if he could just get Jeremy to understand. "I swear to god if they weren't discontinued I'd be dragging your ass to the store right now." He drags his hand down his face. He was so dramatic. 

"I think I can live with the not knowing." Jeremy only fed his friends outburst.

* * *

 

“Jeremy?” He hears Jakes tentative voice.

“You alright, dude?” Richs voice followed afterwards, in a whisper so the girls wouldn’t hear them.

“Yeah, I just-” Jermey moves his weight from one leg to another. The feeling of missing Michael weighing down on him. Whenever he would feel down, he could always count on Michael to turn things around. Now he forced himself to talk to Rich and Jake and give them the opportunity to help. “Michael had talked a big game about them. He wanted me to try one.” He muttered awkwardly. It didn’t sound like such a big deal when he said it. 

“A wonder ball?” Rich said, eyeing the paper Jeremy handed him. 

“Why don’t we go back to look for them?” Jake asked Rich directly. 

“Beats sitting here, I guess.” Rich stands and Jake follows suit. “Meet you back here?” And Jeremy nods before turning to jog after the girls who had gotten tired of waiting.

* * *

 

It took a minute to find the crash. There were no tire marks to lead to the car, just a busted guard rail and a mix of grass and soil thrown about the street. If this was the crash everyone was talking about, it was clear there was no struggle to maintain the car. There were no tire marks from brakes or swerving of the like. If the victim was bit, it was clear it happened within the car.

“Is this it?” Christine is the first to speak since they left the office. 

“It’s the right bridge.” Jenna eyes her scrap of paper warily until she wanders closer to the busted guard rail in the middle of the bridge. They all collect behind her to peer over the dented railing to see the underbelly of a car. They couldn’t see much other than the vehicle had flipped, and the roof of the car was now flat against the river bed.

“I’m getting a closer look.” Jeremy announced as he walked to the end of the railing. Christine was close behind him as they made the steep descent downwards. Jeremy kept his eyes trained on the slippery rocks as he climbed down, and once his shoes safely crunched the tiny pebbles of the dry creek bed at the bottom he looked up to the wreckage.

And immediately felt the wind get knocked out of him.

* * *

 

Michaels driving was not the best. Jeremy had told him exactly that when he had backed into an oak tree and was lucky to get away with only needing a new bumper. Jeremy's driving was not all to good, since he was just learning and Michael (with his PT Cruiser) had taken full charge of teaching him (since Mr. Heere seemed to have better things to do. Like mopeing.) And the latter is what Jeremy had told Michael's mother before Michael could come clean about the bumper and lose his car. They both saved up enough couch change to get a black bumper from the salvage yard that clashed with the silver body of the car. 

Michael couldn't seem to care. It was his first car and he was head over wheels for it. It was sorta Jeremy's first car since Michael wouldn’t fully claim it. He always said ‘it’s  _ our  _ car, Jer’ ‘you own the passenger seat and you’re my DG, dude’. And they acted like it was both of their responsibilities. They took turns paying for oil changes, and getting it washed.

* * *

 

And now their car was sitting at the bottom of a ravine.

“Jeremy?” Christine must have noticed that Jeremy was frozen where he stood.

 

The door to the backseat had been pried open, staining the pebbles a dark brown in dried blood. How had they not seen that from the bridge? 

“That’s-” Oh, God. He can’t say his name. He thinks he could swallow his lungs because the burn and he realizes he’s not breathing. “H-his-” He pushes the last of the air out before desperately sucking air back in. “Its  _ his  _ car.” 

And Christine turns his face gently with her hands. He looks at Christines face and the way she desperately wants to say something to make it better, but out of everything her brain wants to do,  _ nothing  _ seems helpful. Nothing but hope tugs Jeremy away from Christine and he makes the first step towards the car. They  _ have  _ the medical equipment to save people from almost everything. Hell, they  _ have  _ the cure. But did they have Michael? Or was he still in the car?

He peers around, through the opened door. The first the he sees is Michael's father hunched over himself on the roof of the car, his arms still stretched out like he was forever reaching for someone who was no longer there. Blood and pieces of cloth still hang from his mouth and there is a single bullet shot to his forehead. One can only assume that the blood on his mouth had something to do with the splatter on the other backseat door as if the victim had pinned themselves against it to try to make distance between them. There’s a bloody handprint on the door handle. There’s also a large rock on the other side of the door. 

Hanging by the seat belt in the passenger seat is Michael's older brother. His head is busted open and stuck to the dashboard and it’s clear he was a snack to his father. 

“He was- he was squiped.” He says into the silence. He can feel the girls staring at him with varying levels of pity. “His brother.”

“The squip can’t save us from everything.” Chloe says solemnly, and Jeremy thinks bitterly that it's out of character for her. 

Jeremy takes a daring step towards the car, peeking inside. They only had the squip to try to save the survivor. That won’t save them indefinitely. And there was three variables. Michael, Michael's sister, and Michaels mother. It was one of three people.

He wanted to be grateful it was someone he knew, but would solidify everything he had assumed up until now. 

His mother's driver's license sits plain as day on the roof (floor?) of the car. It’s almost torn completely in half and it’s stained dark with old blood. 

There was a fifty fifty chance.

“There.” Jenna hesitantly points under the car seat. For someone who loved to be the bearer of bad news, she was being oddly hesitant. Jeremy followed her line of sight to folded red fabric shoved under the driver's seat. 

No.

He pulls it out like it was made of glass, and it unfolds into something entirely familiar.

_ No. _

* * *

 

Freshman year was the year they decided to do their own school clothes shopping. Honestly, they could have done it earlier since both their parents would take any excuse just to stay home and or had better things to do. So Michael's older brother dropped them off and told them to be back at the entrance in two hours.

It was a clearance hoodie at Kohls and Michael was in need of a new comfort hoodie. He had outgrew his junior high one and there was no amount of stitching and patching that could save it. They had buried it in a time box along with other junk in Jeremy's backyard. It had taken them three stores and two and a half hours to find that could even begin to take its place, but Michael insisted that the walk home would be worth it because he found  _ the one.  _ Jeremy thought it was a lot like online dating.

He wore holes in it just like he did his old one, and he hid its wear with patches to keep his mom from throwing it out just like he did the old one.

* * *

 

It’s in awful shape. The front of it is dyed a darker red. There are two telltale holes at the center of it where the dark red seemed to of originated.The blood was nearly as old as his mother's. He never would have taken it off. Not willingly anyways.

“No!” Jeremy screams, and he’s dropped the hoodie like it burnt him. It drops into the pool of Michaels sisters blood. “No!” He stumbles back. It was like he was losing Michael all over again only faster. This time there was no slow realization that he was never coming back. This time is hit him in the gut like a sack of bricks, breaking down any distance Jeremy had made between him in Michael in the name of healing.   _ It should have been left with him. _ The world spun just like it had the first time, and the reminder that Jeremy was only a half burned deeper into his brain. Jeremy had been right, Michael never made it back to New Jersey. The pain was refreshed, and he was alone all over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was google searching PT Cruiser car wreck and so far I've learned that they are pretty tough cars; the only totaled wrecks I've seen are by 18-wheelers. So hypothetically if they could get Mikeys car out of the ravine, it'll still work. And I also chose this car as our reference https://goo.gl/images/YdsnD8 (I also recently learned that wonder balls are back on the shelves soo)  
> Current update scheduled for 10/ 20


	4. Level Four : If This Was An Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, its our complementary 'start of the shit show' chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael is a dead ass punk who needs to answer his phone

Michael had gone out of town with his family to go pick up his older brother from Harvard the day school let out. He left with the promise that he’d be back three days later so they could start abusing their bodies with more weed than sleep all summer. 

It's amazing how much the world can fuck over itself in three days. 

Jeremy waved Michael, Elizabeth, Mr. and Mrs Mell off that day in the school parking lot, and then he got an amber alert about a man gone rogue some fifty miles away. He guesses that's how everything starts; an amber alert that no one read. He had gone home, had dinner in his bedroom, and watched a woman bleeding from her eyes and nose slam herself into the window of the house across the street. 

Everything had snowballed quick. Dad had drawn all the curtains and turned out the lights at dawn. He locked the door and every window and placed the kitchen knives precariously around the house just in case one of those things roaming the street somehow got inside. They began enforcing every belief instilled in them from zombie movies, videogames etc. If they covered all their bases, they’ll be safe rather than sorry.

He tried to call Michael, because holy shit, a real life zombie apocalypse!? But Michael hated answering phone calls when he was surrounded by people, especially in a small car. No ‘sorry, in a car rn, what's up?’ text came after though. He never heard from Michael again, and that was before the power outages and down cell phone towers. All that was left for Jeremy to do is guess what had happened to him, except that he was long gone before the apocalypse was in full swing.

It was like that everyday; there would be more people in the street and less food on the shelves. Everyday Jeremy would think the apocalypse was officially in full swing only for it to get worse the next day. He kept his eyes trained on the news stations, looking for anything that mentioned Harvard or Maryland in general. That was his last hope of figuring out what happened to Michael before the inevitable will happen and the power will go out or the news broadcasters would prioritise their lives over their paycheck. 

The latter happened first.

The only tidbit of information he got was Harvard closed it’s gates, four days into Hell. That didn’t tell him much of anything, and it only left that sickening feeling that Michael should have been back in New Jersey by then. 

Day five was when the TV would only broadcast white noise and a small message that read ‘No Signal Received’, and Jeremy was left to accept that all he could do was guess. He tried to fill his time with other things; like opening his phone only to realizing he didn’t have any of his friends number programmed other than Michaels. Damn it. He lays on his bed and tries to sleep for as long as humanly possible instead.

He awakes in the early morning of day six. He calls Michael with the lack of anything better to do. It doesn't even ring. Jeremy groans. He figured the cell phone towers would have outlasted the power, but he would be wrong.

 

One thing they never expressed in his apocalypse games is  _ just how long it takes.  _

He tries to flip a light switch on once the sun rises and it is safe to, but his is still stuck in dim lighting.  _ Of course.  _

He trudges to the living room to see his dad packing the fridge into two smaller coolers.

The house sounds different without electricity running through it, Jeremy thinks. He wouldn’t think he could actually hear the difference, but you’d be surprised what all you’d notice just laying on the couch and staring off into oblivion.

Day seven starts off slowly. He’s slowly understanding why Michael would never fall asleep after waking in a cold sweat. Thinking of Michael will only lengthen his morning. He hopes he is alive and well. He hopes he finally comes back today. He hopes that he won’t have to deal with this world much longer. He doesn’t want to see how far it’ll go down the drain.

And he finally thinks that almost half the people he’s ever met are probably dead right now, and what has Jeremy done to earn a spot in the living world? He’s hurt half the people he’s ever met.  He’s just as dangerous as those things roaming the street, he might as well be one. He finally thinks that his mom is probably dead and whether or not her son is alive has probably never crossed her mind. 

He wishes he could vanish into his mattress. He wishes he could fall asleep and never wake up. He isn't sure what to call this feeling. He doesn’t want to kill himself. That’s just too much work and there’s no real way to go about that doesn’t involve walking out the front door and feeding the neighbors. He doesn't have the means or reason to die. It’s the same way for living as well. It’s only a matter of time before he becomes a meal or starves to death anyways, he’s just buying time, and for what? So he could wait for someone who probably was never coming back.

God, he wishes he could just go back to sleep. He wishes he could just make his head shut up. He didn’t want to process any of this. He just wanted to take things day by day and never piece things together. He’d much rather be blissfully unaware.

He rolls out of bed and onto the black floor. He digs under his bed and pulls out a dusty storage bin. It’s filled with pictures throughout elementary and junior high. Stacked neatly on the top is folded picture of six and seven year old Jeremy and Michael with grumpy faces as they’re standing in Michael's front yard with too big backpack packs and untied shoes. In an unfamiliar womans handwriting it reads ‘first day of first grade!’. He doesn’t remember that day. It was too long ago, and it was taken in the first year of their friendship when Jeremy could never remember not not knowing Michael. For someone so important in Jeremy's life, he doesn't remember how they met. He remembers the stories, which were that when Michael’s parents had came to pick him up sometime in the middle of kindergarten, Michael had tried to sneak Jeremy into his car during car rider pick up. He guesses that was one way if any to introduce your parents to your new best friend. 

They had been inseparable ever since, and even though they were told they’d eventually grow out of it and grow apart, it never happened. Jeremy supposes they may have grown apart during the SQUIP ordeal. Their friendship never fully came back to its hundred percent despite Michaels instance that he was just happy to have his best friend back. Michael was less dependant on him, and even though Jeremy wanted to feel proud that Michael could reach out to other people without using Jeremy as a crutch, Jeremy missed being needed. He used being used as a crutch as his own crutch. He couldn’t drag Michael back to his level. He’s hurt him enough.  

He tucks puts the picture back on its rightful place back on top and hides the tub of pictures for another dark night. He should show some to Michael when he comes back.

Day eight starts out similarly, and Jeremy takes his pity party downstairs. He wonders how long he can go with such little sleep, and then he falls asleep on the couch. 

 

His dad is making sandwiches with the last of the lunch meat in the kitchen when he wakes up. Jeremy feels as though he hadn’t slept at all and he felt better when he was staring aimlessly around the living room earlier yesterday morning.

Michael doesn’t show up that day either. Instead, there is a scream from the next door neighbor that rattles the windows.

“Upstairs. Now.” His dad orders as he jumps from his chair.

“Where are you going?” Jeremy is doing as he is told, pulling himself from the couch.

“Stay in your room until I get back.” Is the last thing Jeremy hears from his dad before he is slipping through the sliding door leading to the back yard.

This is bad. It’s too early at the start of this mess where the death rate will only continue go up. His dad will only be apart of the statistic. 

He should be following him out. He should be doing as his dad said, and hiding out in his room. He was just a kid. He was old enough to take down one of those things. He can’t do this alone. He doesn’t know what to do if his dad ends up dying. 

He sneaks out the door and through the busted slot of wood in the fence separating the two yards. The yard is a carbon copy of his own and there was a sliding door on the back of the house to match. He slips in through the busted glass doors. He doesn't want to think what it would have taken to break the thick glass, but there is a splatter of black across the living room floor.

The whole house set up it a mirror to his own and he gave him the eerie idea that it could have just easily been his own home. 

He can hear a door slam shut upstairs and he creeps upstairs. The sound of someone slamming their wet hands against the door echoes through the small stairwell and Jeremy can finally breath easy again. His dad probably just got that thing locked into a room.

“Dad?” Jeremy calls and the immediate silence that follows after makes Jeremy curse his own stupidity. He’s no better than those screaming idiots in zombie movies. 

“Jeremy! Get the hell out of here!” His could hear the muffled voice of his dad as if he were on the other side of a door. Fuck. “Go!” He’s screaming, in any attempt to get the thing back against the door. 

Jeremy can distinctly hear it stumbling down the hallway. He turns to haul ass back down the stairs only to have it blocked but his neighbor trying to push their dead legs up the first stair.

* * *

 

Courtney meant well, and her cooking was even better. Jeremy didn’t remember when it started, but it had to be around the time his dad stopped going to the psychiatrist for his depression. 

She came by every Sunday with dinner in a tupperware container, and a note that said the he was free to talk to her if need be. 

Jeremy had found a letter addressed to the house next door with the bold words ‘Congratulations’ and the name of a local psychology college written across the front. Jeremy slipped into the mailbox without mentioning it to his dad.

* * *

 

He shoves her back and she stumbles blindly, not sentient enough to stop herself from falling. He reaches the ground floor when he feels cold hands grip his shoulder and try to pull him back. 

He leans forward with his weight to dislodge the hands only to trip over what was left of Courtney. He tumbles in a mass of bloody bodies, shoving and kicking at whatever he could. He just wanted to get out of there.

“Dad! Dad!” Jeremy is screaming and it only serves to encourage the teeth grazing his arm. 

No, no, no, no. He holds one back with his arms as it tries to crawl on top of him. The body under him squirms, trying to get a good angle so she can sink her teeth in. Jeremy does his best to pin her head back with his shoulder. 

The body above him is taken away with rough hands as his dad swings the thing around as it tries to right itself. He smashes its head between a baseball bat and a wall before it knew what hit him. Jeremy's shoulder feels like it’s on fire and he’s screaming before he knew what bit him.

 

“Why can’t you just listen!?” His dad is delirious, pacing Jeremy's room as Jeremy stares off into the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. His bed is far more comfortable than it had been the past two nights, and Jeremy things he would much rather spend the rest of his time on Earth sleeping. “I’m so sorry.” His dad in kneeling by his bed, and Jeremy doesn't know when he had gone from screaming to crying. 

Jeremy shakes his head no. God, his head hurt. He pulls at the covers underneath him. He wishes he was strong enough to pull them out from under himself. “I love you. I love you so much.” 

Jeremy feels so tired. The world was slipping away and he thinks that this is what it’s like to die. He’s not as disappointed as he think he should be. He was so tired of this world. He didn’t have any choice in this, but this was what he wanted. All he had to do is swim in the darkness edging into his vision. He feels his dad caging his hand with his own. 

Jeremy closes his eyes.

“Go see Michael, kiddo. I love you.”

 

Jeremy wakes up on day ten with a hot tension on his right shoulder. His throat burned and it felt as though his stomach acid was is the process of eating his stomach. 

Slowly he sits up and the world spins with him. He manages to fall to the ground despite his sitting condition. It’s not his blue carpeted floor he is laying on. It’s a painful white tile that only looks brighter under the harsh white light from the ceiling. 

Light? Electricity? 

Jeremy idly looks around his surroundings. A hospital room? He looks down to himself. Ugh, a hospital gown. 

It was like no part of the apocalypse was here. Like Jeremy had suffered from some crazy accident and had the freakiest coma dream, but the tightness of that spot on his neck was still very real. Maybe it was an accident. None of it could have been real. He was given a second chance and this time he was going to listen to his dad. This time he was going to let Michael know just how much he was worth to him, because Jeremy was a total asshole to Michael and he wasn’t sure if Michael knew. 

“Michael? Dad?!” He calls into the echoing hospital room. It’s too quiet to be a normal hospital room. Shouldn’t he be hooked up to a heart monitor? Shouldn’t he be able to hear the traffic surrounding the Hospital?

He stands up from his place on the floor to the window in his room and he pulls back the thick curtain. Light pierces his eyes and he has to shut them before he can trust the sun not to blind him a second time.

The parking lot is fenced off by a makeshift wall made of cement beams. The freeway just past the fence is void of any traffic despite it being mid day. He can see a woman missing an arm hobling just outside the walls perimeter.

No.

“No!” Jeremey shrieks, flailing back from the window, only for someone the catch him before he hit the ground a second time. The arms are thick and familiar, but he only vaguely registers that it's his dad. “No!” Jeremy heaves, fighting the arms that entangle him. “Michael, I have to- I- no more! Please!” He cries, collapsing in a dead weight and his dad struggles to keep him off the floor. 

“Jeremy, you’re okay. We’re safe now.” His dad sooths. 

Jeremy cries himself to sleep in his dad's arms for the remainder of day ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment to let me know how much you hate it <3  
> 


	5. Level Five : The Bright Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy tries to grasp all that's he's seen and learned.  
> Healing might be harder than the experience itself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boy gets a light at the end of the tunnel.  
> Dad steps up and Rich and Christine are good friends, Jeremy aprreciates

Jeremy hadn’t left his bed for anything that wasn’t necessary for the past two days. Jake laid on the bunk above him in the same silence. Jeremy wanted to say that ‘at least there was still hope for you parents’ to which he could easily imagine ‘at least you know what happened to him’ as a response. But that wouldn’t be the full truth. He didn’t know what had happened. He didn’t know how soon it happened, or how long it took, or if Michael even knew what was happening. He would have to ask Ellie when they finally allowed visiting and Jeremy had the willpower to leave the living quarters. 

Rich had been oddly quiet, and only would give vague updates that always ended with ‘they won't allow visiting until they know she’ll make it.’ He had mentioned that they would only call the patient by the room number, and that was protocol to keep nurses and doctors detached as their patient dies. He wasn’t sure if he was happy that his chances of knowing Michaels last moments were dying as he lay there. He wanted to be happy that Ellie had a chance, and that he couldn’t fully forget Michael if she was still alive. He wished that he didn’t wish that it was her body rotting away rather than Michaels. The fact that Michael was gone was a double sided knife; Jeremy felt guilty for being relieved just as much as he was guilty for wishing this world for Michael.

A soft knock at the door interrupted both boys from their mourning. Jeremy looked at the bunk above him, just as he was sure Jake was staring down at his mattress in a silent question of who was going to answer the door. They were staring long enough, Jeremy was sure whoever it was had just walked away. 

They knocked louder this time and Jeremy gave in. He shot Jake a mean look. It’s not like Jake just saw his best friend's car in a bloody pool at the bottom of a ravine, but whatever. He dragged his feet to the door. 

 

Christine stood awkwardly on the other side of the door on the other side of the door.

Jeremy was sure he looked enough like shit that an introduction or apology was necessary. 

“Hey, how are you making it?” Christine says softly and unsure, as if she were sure Jeremy wasn’t making it all. She would be right. 

Jeremy just shrugs. He didn’t have the energy to admit his lack of energy and overcoming thought of ‘why the hell was he still here? What was left for him here?’. She still understood. She nodded solemnly. 

Slowly she pulls her arms in front of her with that familiar hoodie wrapped in her arms neatly. It looked so well taken care of; much more so than Michael ever looked after it. Jeremy guesses it was sort of a memorial now. That cheap hoodie from Kohls ended up being priceless.

“I know you wanted to leave this behind, but…” She unfolded it, and the fabric was the steady familiar red; not a blood stain in sight. The bullet holes had been stitched shut with nothing but a thin line of off red thread in their places. 

It almost looked exactly like it did when Michael left in it.

“You- you…” Jeremy reached out for it, running a finger over the digital heart patch over the heart.

* * *

 

“What are you making?” Michael layed sprawled out on the couch in the living room. He was to lazy to actually walk in the kitchen, so he just lay judging Jeremy at a comfortable distance. 

He watches Jaremy line a tortilla  with peanut butter with avid interest and disgust. 

“It’s sorta like a quesadilla?” Jeremy says and he thinks he could die happy just by the look of horror on Michaels face. 

“There is no way in hell that it a quesadilla.” Michael grumbled as he continued to watch as Jeremy slide the abomination onto the griddle. Jeremy was only waiting for him to give into his curiosity. He’s never once disliked one of Jeremy's empty pantry creations, and Jeremy was starting to suspect that he had burned his taste buds away with his excessive smoking. Or maybe it was the high that gave him the appetite of a pregnant woman. “Can I have one?” Michael asks as if he wasn't just insulted by the idea of peanut butter quesadillas.

Jeremy shakes his head but loads the griddle with another abomination.

He finishes one up and flips it onto the plate before carefully nibbling on a corner of it. He was relieved that he perfected balance between melty peanut butter and crispy tortilla. Michael looked at him like he was expecting Jeremy to vomit immediately after. (Only one of his empty pantry creations ever made him sick, thank you very much, and it was only because Michael believed that canned tuna fish didn't have an expiration date. He still thinks that, and he enjoyed the tuna fish and mac and cheese without getting sick. Lucky bastard.) Jeremy just smiled in victory.

Michael gave him a long disbelieving look until he finally accepted that maybe Jeremy was enjoying his peanut butter quesadilla. Jeremy only stared back as he took another bite and Michael, without changing his silently judging expression, opened his mouth in a silent demand for food. 

“Yours isn't ready.” Jeremy says around a mouthful of food. Michael doesn't close his mouth or change his demanding expression. God dammit, silence was impossible for Jeremy to argue with and they both knew that. 

Jeremy surrenders the rest of his quesadilla when he walks over to Michael. Michael however, looks as demanding as ever with his arms limp and hanging off of the side of the couch and an obvious statement that feeding him was 100% Jeremy's responsibility. 

He just stuck the corner of the tortilla into his mouth, narrowly missing Michaels teeth (Jeremy has learned from past mistakes that Michael will bite if given the chance.) and lets it hang there, dripping melty peanut butter down Michaels chin. 

Michael admits defeat when he finally reaches up to grab the thing and pull it off of his face. 

“It’s not that bad, but it makes a better facial.” Michaels grins, really wanting to wipe the sticky mess of his face, but knowing that it would only make an awful mess. Jeremy gives him an odd look, and he’s seen that look before, although it’s usually when they’re both high out of their minds and decide to jack o- oh. “Ugh, don't be gross.” Michael pushes Jeremy off where he’s perched on the couch with his foot and Jeremy crashes to the floor with a yelp. Good, he deserved that. 

“I’ll get you a napkin before that stains your hoodie.” Jeremy scrambles to his feet and back into the kitchen. 

“What?!” Michael forgets the previous embarrassment in favor of trying to o-so-genlty wipe the glob of peanut butter from the front of his hoodie.

“Do you think bubble gum would help?” Jeremy calls from the kitchen, which was really only ten feet away and Michael could still make eye contact with the flailing teen.

“Isn't that backwards?”

“Backwards?”

“Peanut butter gets gum out.”

“Oh.” He says as he comes back with a wad of paper towels. It was definitely going to stain.

“It’s probably still going to stain.” Michael grumbles as he takes a napkin from Jeremy.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get it all over you, I should have been more careful.” Jeremy spouts as he hovers, wanting to help but not sure how.

“Nah, it’s all good. No biggie.” Michael amends, but the dark spot on the fabric isn't fading.

“ I don’t think it’s gonna come out.” Jeremy mumbles.

“I think it’s time.” Michael sighs and gives Jeremy an excited grin.

“The first patch is going to be my fault?” Jeremy grins, seemingly forgetting his earlier guilt. “I got a few the last con we went to, hold on.” He raced back into his room, and Michael can hear Jeremy tearing things out from under his bed. 

Jeremy soon emerges with three patches in hand. One gay pride flag, one rise above racism patch, and a simple digital heart. 90% percent of the patches wound up on his sleeve because of his bad habit of brushing his shoulder against the wall as he walked, and he wanted to avoid the birth of a ‘heart on your sleeve’ joke so he decides that having it placed ironically right over his heart would be it’s best use.

He picks the heart from Jeremy's hands.

“Awsome, Ima text Christine and ask her to hang around after play practice so we can get it sewn on.”

* * *

 

“How did you get the blood stains out of it?” He says weakly, and his hand drops from the fabric. 

She smiles wearily. “Monthly visitors, Jeremy. You learn a few tricks of the trade when you have too.” 

“O-oh, right. Sorry.” Jeremy stutters, but takes the jacket from her hands regardless.

“They don’t know we know, so I’d advise to keep it hidden for now.” She shoves her hands into her pockets.

“Right, right. Thank you.” Jeremy tries his best to sound sincere, because the thought of leaving this jacket to ruin in a riverbed would have easily been one of his biggest regrets. “Really, I can't thank you enough for saving it for me.” Jeremy thinks he can cry another time today, but at least this time it would be out of happiness. 

“I was going to hang onto it for you even if you didn't want it now. You should have it. He would have wanted you to hang onto it. Sorry if I’m overstepping any boundaries, but maybe it can be your comfort jacket like it was for him?” Christine gave a trying smile. 

“There’s only one way to find out.” Jeremy says as he slips the jacket over his head.

 

Jeremy found rest easier after that. It was easier to pretend everything was okay even if a reminder was wrapped around him. It was an even bigger reminder when his father came stomping in at around two in the morning smelling like rotting flesh.

“Ugh, dad go take a shower.” Jeremy tries to roll over and ignore his father's intrusion.

“Seconded.” Rich pipes up from across the dark room. 

“Jeremiah Heere, I need to talk to you this instant.” His father demands and the whole room goes silent. He’s sure that even Jake is holding his breathe. “Privately.” 

Jeremy does his best to bring the blanket with him as he follows his dad into the living room. He tugs the blanket over the jacket as he walks into the light.

“Drop the blanket, Jeremy.” His father demands, and Jeremy only holds it tighter. 

“I’m- I’m not dressed, yeah.” 

“You won’t change in the same room as Jake and Rich. I’m not buying it. Drop the blanket.”

Jeremy does as he’s told and there isn’t an ounce of surprise on his face.

“I didn’t want you to see any of that, son. Not even that jacket in the condition it was. Why did you go?”

“I-” Jeremy doesn’t have any cover up story for this, and realizes he shouldn’t have to. “I went for Jake. I didn’t want him to see his parents dead so I just- I went in his stead. I didn’t know. I-” Jeremy chokes down a sob. He wishes he could wipe it all from his head. He wanted to be told that Michaels car was found and that his brother and father where zombie food. He didn't want to  _ see  _ it. 

“It’s alright, boyo. They’re doing everything they can. Life is shitty, but it’ll work out.” And then his father hugged him. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. “The best part about hitting rock bottom is that there’s only way up.” He whispered and Jeremy wants to laugh because there is nothing inspirational from a stolen quote from a singing animal movie. “And I do have some news,” He pulled away and held Jeremy at arms length, he paused before inspected the new stitches across the chest of the hoodie. “There’s hardly a seam. How’d you get Mr. Mulligan to repair it  without ratting you out?” His looked more proud that concerned.

“I didn’t take it to Size and Fitting, Christine did it.” Jeremy shrugged.

“Has she considered switching out of the Nursery to apprentice under him?”

“I dunno, I think costumes are more her thing.” 

“Hmm.”

“You said you had news?” Jeremy reminded.

“Right! Yes! I have news! The memorial for Daniel Snr. and Daniel Jr. Mell is tomorrow morning, probably right after breakfast, aaaaannnnndddd….”

“Aaaaaannnnnnddddd?” Jeremy prodded.

“They’ll be opening up visitation to a certain patient tomorrow evening after they administer that weird little pill you guys brought in.”

“Oh, Oh! I can finally figure out what happened to Michael!” Jeremy grinned despite that impending doom. 

“Exactamundo my boy.” Mr. Heere grinned. “Maybe get some closure, yeah?” He places his hand on Jeremy's shoulder with his best ‘I’m a supportive dad’ face.

 

The memorial was not like any funeral Jeremy had ever attended. There were little to no tears, and they was more discussion on how the car accident happened than about the people themselves. Almost no one knew these people, and it created a sort of mutual objectified curiosity of them. Jeremy wished they would just admit that they didn’t care who they were and then leave.

Richs older brother had been pretty good buds with Daniel Jr. so he walked around the church benches of the prayer room with a haunted look. He didn’t look to be mourning, just disturbed that Daniel could have just as much been one of them, alive and well, just as they could be him, Squiped and dead. 

Jeremy felt awfully guilty that the main thing drove him to tears was over Michael's death rather than the father and son in the closed caskets at the front of the room. That’s where most of the tears in the crowded room where coming from anyway. They were literally burying father and son, but metaphorically Michael had his own place in the dirt. As awful as it sounded, Michael was the main reason they weren’t left to rot at the bottom of a dried up creek bed.

 

The walked in a line mimicking a funeral procession without cars into the garden of the North wing, and there is where there are two blank stones side by side at the foot of two freshly dug graves. The grass besides them look empty and Jeremy's nerves get the better of him. Burying is all about letting go. He was letting go of Mr. Mell and Danny Jr. And Michael.

Jeremy and Rich wade into the koi pond at the back of the garden for big enough rocks until they come up with two more for Michael and his mother.

They both set the stones beside the preexisting ones and they all pretend that they’re soundly resting in the dirt instead of far far away with an expression of horror across their face until their head finally rot away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters will be faster paced as I begin to wrap up this story. I did promise a happy ending, so hold onto that.  
> Comments are always apreciated  
> Next update is 10/25


	6. Level Six : Visiting Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremys mind begins to have a habit of making him see what he wants to see

He had two hours at the least before they would open visitation to Ellie. According to dad, they were administering the treatment at twelve sharp and would wait out any bugs or side effects. Jeremy knew the stupid pill came with more than enough side effects so he had plenty of time to go back up to his living quarters and mope some more. How ironic; the moment his dad gets his life together, Jeremy becomes the mopeing slum in his place.

He could smell it as soon as he walked into his room, and good God, it smelled like a cross between a boy's gym locker and a pickle jar. Had he gotten that nose blind in the past couple of days of trying to melt into his mattress? He guesses he rotted into his mattress more or less. That’s what it smelled like at least.

“Come on, Jake. We need to freshen up a bit.” Jeremy called up to the lump on the top bunk. “It’ll make you feel better, I promise. You can go back to bed afterwards.” Jeremy tried to compromise as he stripped his own bed of smelly blankets and sheets. Without any permission, he takes Jake's blankets as well and piles them all up into a corner. “Go take it down to Mr. Mulligan. You need to walk around at least a little bit.” Jeremy prodded as Jake climbs down.

“ _ Then  _ can I go back to bed?” He grumbles, but he’s loading up armfuls of bedding.

“You’ll take a shower,  _ then  _ you can go back to bed.” Jeremy corrects as he is digging through his dresser to get ready for his own shower.

“Whatever.” Was the last thing Jake said before he stalked out the door looking like he just climbed out of bed. 

Jeremy honestly hoped things would get better soon, or at least start to heal, but healing was messy and never linear. There were a mountain of bad days ahead of them. Jeremy ends that train of thought by walking to the bathroom. He’s not sure how much it’ll make him feel better, but he’s never walked out of a shower feeling worse, so he holds to that thought.

* * *

 

Twelve years of being attached to someone's side can push the platonic line far into romantic territory or blur the line altogether. There were things Michael and Jeremy did that was not exactly platonic or even normal for friends to do, but their friendship had to mature somehow, right? It was a common knowledge between them that they were practically soulmates or each others half or whatever sappy shit they could come up with when they were high as fuck. But it all was excused as platonic. 

Contrary to popular belief, Jeremy  _ had  _ seen a vagina before the whole squip nightmare. No one can remember how it started, just as neither of them remember the start of their friendship, but at the time they were young enough that none of it was questionable. The story had something to do with Michael's ten year old brother watching over the two kindergartners and instead of bathing one while trying to supervise the other, he just threw them both in the tub at once; clashing of sex be damned. It was something they never really grew out of. There was nothing awkward or sexual about it. It was Michael trying to trip Jeremy on the slippery floor of the shower and Jeremy throwing suds in retaliation. It was convenient at it was innocent fun.

Jeremy was sure time could make anything seem normal. Normal like the kisses shared when they were both high out of their minds or too tired to care. It was Jeremy's wet awful kisses in the morning to wake Michael up and Michael would always wipe the slobber from his cheek and slap him with it. It was normal just like when they caught each other a little too close that it blurred the line between platonic and romantic, and then erase that line by locking lips, before excusing it all as platonic and who are they to deny awful kissing in the rain tropes? It was shaving their legs together before Michael had to play the perfect little girl at family gatherings and Jeremy playing the role of a boyfriend if only for the excuse that Michael could squeeze the life out of Jeremy's hand for comfort. It was using each others asses as pillows, and the silent agreement that they were just too close to have a healthy relationship with anyone else. The idea of them just dating each other never came up, however.

At least that was what it was like before the squip. Michael had gone above and beyond what Jeremy had expected of him, but there was still a limit and there was still a hurt. And it was as if Michael had tried to make their friendship a normal kind of normal. No mutual shower fights or ‘just because the moment is right’ kisses, and he took to curling around blankets on his side of the bed rather than Jeremy. Jeremy's twin was always big enough for the two if them until their bodies stopped fitting together like puzzle pieces. Jeremy couldn’t blame him as much as he wanted things to go back to normal. He couldn’t push him as much as he just wanted to just fall asleep against Michael's side again. 

He had once thought he was in a shitty predicament because he could never read Michael's feelings towards him when every close moment was lined with extreme platonic ideas. He knew Michael loved him, but did Michael want more than excusable kisses? And then there wasn’t even that, and Jeremy hated himself for not committing the feeling of Michaels holding his face to his own to memory.

* * *

 

He steps out of the shower to dry his hair and pulls on so semi-clean clothes and the red hoodie. 

Jake is already back, and just as promised, he is gathering his clothes to take his own shower.

“You ready?” Jake asks, and he seems lighter than he has the past few days.

“Not really, but- look, man, I’m so sorry. Trust me, as shitty or not shitty as it sounds, I wish it was you mom or dad in that room.” Jeremy tries.

Jake nods as he swallows back tears. “ They could still be out there. The human race isn’t dead yet.” His smile is bittersweet, but it's multitudes better. “I know you think otherwise, but I speak for everyone when I say I’m glad you didn’t see what happened to him. Losing him is hard enough for you.”

“I-yeah, I know, but I just, I would have wanted to be there still. Not for me, but for him. I haven’t been there for him this past year- I’ve been such a…” Jeremy is shaking, and he feels like shit all over again. The shower didn’t wash away the stench that he was and tears flooded his eyes like boiling water.

“God, fuck, man- I” Jake sighs; he doesn’t know what to say. It’s not his job to make Jeremy feel better when he feels like shit himself.  “You guys deserved better than that, and I meant it.  _ Both  _ of you, not just Michael. You fought that thing in your head harder than any of us, other than maybe Rich, and he almost went insane doing it.” Jake tries.

“Yeah, well-” His dad interrupts Jeremy's train of thought as he steps into the room with an excited smile. “You need to get a shower, I’ll tell you how it goes.” Jeremy says as he pats Jake's shoulder. He walks around him to follow his dad back out the door.

 

“They’ve just administered the squip, and I still can't believe it can break a coma like that.” Mr. Heere starts with filling Jeremy in as they make their way to the medical bay.

“Coma?”

“Hmm, yeah. Severe head damage, passed out as soon as I... I guess the adrenaline was the only thing keepin’m awake. Asked for you once conscious was regained. I couldn’t say no to that.” 

Jeremy briefly thinks he’s been spending too much time around these doctors. His dad grins down at him despite this.

“You excited?” 

“I-I mean, I guess?” Jeremy says as he follows his dad through the rehabilitations center. He gives Jeremy an odd look and Jeremy shoots the same look back.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” His dad stops in the hallway and Jeremy feels impatience bubble inside of him. He just want’s to get this over with.

“Look, I can’t be thankful enough that you we found what was left of the Mells, but for so long I could just pretends that Michael was just far far away, and now, and now I can’t ignore it!” Jeremy tries not to make a scene in the middle of the hallway. 

Mr. Heeres face softens. “I didn’t want you to find out the way you did.” He sighs. “I was saving that jacket for Mr. Mulligan before I gave it to you, but…” His shoulder sags, defeated. “He was right, you shouldn’t see him this way, but I don’t think either of you can wait much longer. He’s trying hard, you know? It’s only been a few hours, but he trying to hard to pull himself together for you.”

Jeremy stares blankly at him.

What?

“What?” Jeremy says, and the floor seems to sway under him. It feels as if air is being shoved into his lungs.

“Yeah, crazy right?” His dad forces a chuckle before reaching up to tug on the front of the jackter. “As much as I worry about that boy wrapping such a thick layer of ace bandages around himself, it was the thing that saved him.” He says as he runs a finger over the stitched up bullet holes.

“I-he-no…” Jeremy squeaks.

“Jeremiah?” He asks with an unknowing look. That's the problem; he knew so much more than Jeremy did.

“Oh my God.” Jeremy breaths. “It’s not- Where is he!” He looks around wildly, searching for any hint as to which room held his best friend; his other half. He wasn’t alone anymore. If he didn’t find him now, then maybe this fantasy will just fade into his lonely reality, and he just couldn’t do it anymore. 

“Whoah, whoah, tone it down. He is still very unstable. You can’t be like this in front of him, okay?” Mr. Heere tries to calm down his raging teen.

Jeremy's frantic attention hones in on his dad. He had no idea what was going through Jeremy's head.

“I thought it was Ellie this entire time! I was readying myself to hear how he died!” Jeremy heaved and he grips the sleeves of the jacket. 

“Okay, okay. Jeremy, I need you to take a long breathe for me.” His dad's hands were on his arms and Jeremy couldn’t get his eyes to focus on anything.

Jeremy wheezes, and he’s crying for the millionth time this week, but he’s smiling and he can’t stop. 

“I need to see him.” Jeremy mumbles through the red sleeves rubbing his eyes.

“Don’t I know it, kiddo.” He says and he finally walks Jeremy to another door. There's a whiteboard hanging over the window and it makes Jeremy want to scream out in joy.

_ Michael Mell HEERE PRIORITY - visitable to Heere family only _

They don’t name a patient if they have a single doubt they won’t make it, and even though the marker is fresh; the patient is named nonetheless.

Jeremy freezes in front of the door, reading the writing over and over again. It was like all of this was out of a dream. Everything was dark around the edges and the world felt like it was going to fast to be real.

Oh, please God no. This is not a dream he want’s to wake up from.

“I’ll be out here. Take your time.” His dad slips his hand away from Jeremy's shoulder and he isn't sure when it got there in the first place. 

He sets his hand on the handle and it's freezing, more so than it should but with the minimum ac running.

* * *

 

He remembers the first time he had to visit Michael in the hospital, and that was easily the angriest he had ever been in his entire life.

“What do you mean, you don’t regret it? You just said it was an accident. You’re on suicide watch for fucks sake.” Jeremy's voice was eerily steady.

“That got me on enough pain meds, I don’t feel a thing!” Michael was doped up to care. Jeremy should know better than to try having this conversation yet.

“You almost died! For what!?” He knew what, but he was so angry, and so frightened, and he was crying. He was so scared that it would have been that easy to lose Michael, and angry that Michael couldn’t seem to care either way. ‘I wanted the cramps to go away, it would’ve worked one way or the other.’ is what he had said and Jeremy just wanted to strangle him and kill Michael himself. 

He knew how Michael got with menstrual cramps; he was usually delirious until his pain meds kicked in. He just got a little too desperate to make it stop and took whatever he could get his hands on in hopes something would work  _ now  _ or knock him out,  _ or put him in the hospital.  _ It wasn’t a suicide attempt, but it was still by Michaels hands, and it terrified Jeremy. 

So maybe it wasn't normal that Jeremy kept better track of Michaels cycle than Michael himself did, but Jeremy was never risking something like that ever happening again. So maybe it wasn’t normal that Jeremy had more remedies to menstrual cramps than anybody with a dick had a right knowing, but they had a schedule of chocolate milkshakes, warm baths as Jeremy tries (and fails) to play the role of a masseuse ,and road trips far far away from stocked medicine cabinets.

“You spoil me, mmm.” He says as Jeremy digs a thumb into the arch of his foot. Michael sinks further into the hot bath water. “Them girls- they don’t know what they’re missing out.” 

Jeremy tries not to let his hands falter, but he’s thrown for a loop. Michael has been throwing those odd comments out there recently, and he’s not sure how to take them. He decides not to comment.

“How are you feeling?” Jeremy asks tentatively before adding; “On a scale between needing to become a pill popper to hospital high?” He makes sure to add a disapproving look to the comment, but Michael hums along easily.

He still hasn’t shown any sign of regret from the whole thing like his near death experience scared Jeremy more than it did himself. Jeremy was sure that statement was true. Something had clicked back then; as if Michael figured out something that everyone else had looked over. Jeremy felt sick every time he thought about it.

“Michael,” Jeremy interrupts whatever answer Michael was about to give. “Have you, um, thought about killing yourself?” He says slowly he wants to take it all back when he sees the look on Michaels face. It said it all. ‘You weren’t supposed to know’. Eleven years and he was just a step behind reading Michael's mind.

“I- uh, I guess?” He sinks further into the bath water until it's up to his chin. Jeremy traps his ankle in his arms before Michael can completely pull to himself and rests his chin on the side of the tub silently. “Nothing serious, just one of those… I’m not going to  _ actually  _ do it, alright?” Michael tries, and Jeremy doesn't know what to say other than he wishes he could trade eyes with Michael so Michael can actually see what he’s worth, but that’s stupid and sappy so he keeps his mouth shut. “I mean, who else is gonna give you a hard time?” He tries to smile, and Jeremy wishes he couldn’t translate Michaels way of avoiding what he really means. ‘I mean, I still have to live for you.’

“I-” It was Jeremy's turn to speak, and he had no idea what to say. “If you ever feel shitty,  _ please. _ ” He doesn't want to make this any more emotional than it has to be. Michael doesn’t like emotional, but he can't risk the chance of Michael's parents calling him instead of Michael. “Call me until I answer, give me a chance to help you, okay? Or come over, the spare key is always under the mat. I will always be here.” He does his best to keep it together, but Michael pulls his foot from Jeremy's grip and moves to his side of the tub, wrapping Jeremy in wet arms. He doesn't care whatsoever. He holds onto Michael as tight as his noodle arms will allow.

“Jeremy is Heere.” Michael laughs quietly into his ear.

“Exactly.” He smiles into his shoulder.

* * *

 

The room is larger than most of the patient rooms, but the hospital bed still sits front and center under the large window overlooking the overrun city.

Michael, who is alive and laying in bed, is worse for wear. There’s a prominent gash across his temple and dark bruises leading to his right arm wrapped in a sling. 

Jeremy stands dumbly in the doorway as they both stare at each other.

“Mi-You’re here.” Jeremy doesn't think he was capable of talking but the words fall out like his last breath.

“No, You’re Heere.” 

 

He wakes up screaming at the ceiling.

  
  


The nurses surround him near instantly, and he has to push them off of him so he has room to breathe. His lungs won’t take air in anyways and he’s left heaving with hands all over him. Just leave him alone. He needed space. He needed to be anywhere but here. He didn’t know what here was.

“Michael.” He heaves. The voices blur around him like fish darting in water; he can only catch the tail end of sentences. 

He pulls a breathe of air in only for it to be pushed out in a sob. He rips the hands from himself. 

“No!” He is screaming. He couldn’t be here any longer. 

He gets to his feet and takes off. The hallways don’t look familiar when he’s crying his eyes out, but he can hear the shouting behind him, pushing him forward.

He can finally breath with his legs pumping under him. If he runs long enough, he can run away from it all. He can run away from the nurses who can save anyone from infants to the elderly, as long as they are not already dead and Michael is dead; metaphorically and literally. He can run away from the sick dreams his mind creates out of sheer desperation. He can run from it all, but he can’t run from himself and loneliness chases after him as if it's tied to him.

He sure as hell can try though.

* * *

 

Jeremy has been known for running from his problems. It’s what kept Jeremy, the awkward extravert dying for more social stimulation tied to the professional hermit of an introvert, Michael. 

“It’ll be fun. I promise. I’ll be there the entire time. If you get uncomfortable you can just sit next to me.” Jeremy tries to reason with Michael, who seemed pretty adamant about keeping to his earlier statement; ‘I’m not the party type.’ Michael looked at him as if relying on Jeremy's presence would be a worse position to be in rather than just laying in bed all day. He doesn’t voice it though; he just looks down at his phone and unlocks it. He never says anything anymore. Jeremy can’t remember the last time Michael ever dared to drag him into a deep conversation. It’s always a weak argument if he doesn’t agree and then he quits fighting like he’s afraid to really state is position. This is the most Michael has stood his ground since the whole squip train wreck. It bothers Jeremy, but like Michael, he doesn't say anything. 

Things never fully returned to the way things were despite how hard either of them tried, and he knew Michael was trying. He wanted to be that friend that told him to stand up for himself and not take such a shitty apology and use it to try to wipe months of personal hell away. It was a shitty apology and no matter how hard Michael tried to rid himself of the hurt, it wouldn’t come clean from his heart. Jeremy knew that, and the good part of Jeremy was glad that Michael was mentally unable to push it all away like he claimed he did. 

The bad part of Jeremy wanted him just to forget it all ever happened, and he could get away with it scot free so they can go back to what they where instead of this forced act of it. It was as if they had become hyper aware of their reactions to each other. Michael would never ramble about his late night binge watching for longer than thirty seconds, and on bad days he would lock the world out of his room; Jeremy included. Jeremy had learned to stand straighter, and managed to keep his stutter to a minimum, but never had the nerve to acknowledge that paranoid look in Michael's eyes. 

He was just so sick and tired of it. He just wanted Michael back. He wanted the ‘Michael and Jeremy’ back.

“You alright?” Jeremy asks as he sits on the corner of Michaels bed; an invisible barrier between them. It was unspoken that Jeremy wasn't to touch him if he was upset; he hadn’t earned the privilege. God, he can't remember the last time he’s asked Michael that. He was such a shitty friend even when he was trying to mend what’s been hurt.

Michael just stares as his phone background. There’s no picture; just a black screen with the clock on it. It used to be a picture of Jeremy mid-fall from the jungle gym in Ellies elementary school playground. He doesn't cover it up or dismiss it and Jeremy wants to cry because at least he’s letting Jeremy acknowledge that he isn’t doing to good.

He locks his phone and unlocks it again just to keep his hands busy.

“We never finished level nine, you know?” Jeremy changes the subject like the coward he is, but the sliver of hope in Michaels eyes makes it worth it.

“You have a party to go to. Don’t worry about me.” Michael says anyways; always pushing Jeremy away like some noble act. For weeks Jeremy had thought Michael needed space from all that had happened, and Jeremy considered it fair. Now, he fully understands what Michael is silently pleading. It was him silently wanting Jeremy to verbally choose him over any sort of friend he has made through the Squips. Jeremy was more than willing to reiterate Michaels place as the  _ best  _ friend.

“Nah, man. Not without my player one.” He shrugged, hiding the sincerity under nonchalance. “And plus, last time I didn’t worry about you I nearly enslaved our entire grade level. It’s safe to say I learned my lesson.” Jeremy lays back on the mattress in reinstate his permanence. 

And then he feels the mattress jostle from where Michael sits. He looks up to see Michael rub a red sleeve into his eye as if he could shove the tears back in before Jeremy saw. 

“Michael?” Jeremy says softly, completely unsure what to do now. He sits up and scotches as close to Michael as he could without touching him. He holds a hand between them in a silent question or plea, he’s not sure. He desperately want to squeeze the tears out of Michael like he’s done since they were kids. He hasn’t earned that yet, and he’s nearly in tears because he just wants to hold him and tell him everything is going to be alright. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, just shove me away. It’s okay. I just want you to be okay.” Jeremy gives in as he pulls Michael into his arms.

It’s still familiar unlike anything that Jeremy has experienced in the past few months. It was as if untouched by the hell the squip constructed. Michael melted in his arms all the same, but the tears don’t die down like Jeremy's hugs usually accomplishes. Instead sobs rack his body and he’s heaving and shaking so much Jeremy can feel it in his chest. Or maybe that was his heart. He did this. He did this to Michael, who was the living embodiment of sunshine and goofy laughs.

“I'm sorry.” Jeremy sobs into the welcoming red jacket. It was everything that they were pretending that didn’t exist. It was the healing Michael pretended to have, and the problems Michael had buried with the fear of Jeremy ditching him. It was the facade breaking apart like the cheap cover up that it was. So they clung to each other like their lives depended on it, and maybe it did. “I’m so sorry. Never again. Never again.” Jeremy sobs because he knows that words won't fix what he did, but he hopes with everything he’s got that maybe, just maybe, time and tears would do the trick. He knows that this would help; that owning up to what he did because Michael won't hold him accountable so someone has to. He knows there will be days Michael will question why he ever took Jeremy back or what he did to deserve this. He knows there will be days Jeremy will wonder how just how long it’ll take till he fucks up again. 

But for now, he’ll urge and nurse as much hurt out of Michael before he loses the courage to stop running away from what he did.

* * *

 

He tucks his hands into the pocket of the worn red hoodie, trying to ignore the sweat dripping down his back. It had felt so good to run, but now he just feels like a used up sweat rag, ugh. At least he’s back in the suburbs and out of that stuffy hospital.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update is 10/27


	7. Level Seven : Player One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only one way to get Jeremy to come back to the hospital, and it's to prove his dream right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the confusion, I'm pretty sure this will clarify some things

 

Michael had seen that look on Jeremys face before; the ‘I just plugged my headphones in the electrical socket’ look. He shouldn’t have been surprised when he actually watched the light fade from his eyes and his knees give out.

The nurses are quick to pull him from the floor and haul his unconscious body out of the room. 

“Wait-” Michael tries.

“We’ll bring him right back.” A nurse promises and he knows better than to trust a nurses promise. He can’t do anything about it either way, so he sits bed ridden and useless.

_ Useless. _

_ You came all this way and this is how he greets you? _

_ You came all this way like a desperate maniac. _

Mr. Heere walks in a few minutes later.

“Hey, sonni.” He greets as he sits at the edge of Michaels bed.

* * *

 

The first thing he was aware of was the headache he had. The second was him remembering he had to get the hell out of this car. The third was the he couldn’t; his chest burned and the rushed stitch job was coming undone. He pushed at his seatbelt as what was left of dad was thrashing in the driver seat. Zombies can’t drive worth a shit, he grumbles.

They were so close. The Memorial Hospital back in Middlebourogh. They were the ones that treated anything. They could have saved Dad if only they were quicker. Now they were under a bridge, and the only thing keeping him alive was the fact that his brother was the one riding shotgun.

He makes the poor decision of unclipping his seatbelt and he falls to the roof of the car head first. His vision swims and he thinks he would be vomiting if he had anything to throw up. He has to tuck his legs to himself to keep of reach from his ‘Dad’, who was pushing against the tightening seat belts still trying to hold its passengers in place. Michael hopes whoever designed that safety feature is alive and well because that’s the only thing keeping Michael alive right now. He tries desperately to get ahold of his bearings because the seatbelt can only hold him for so long.

He places a hand over his chest and his hand comes black bloody. He tries to ease his rushing heartbeat. He’ll bleed out at this pace so he breaths in and lets it all go. He opens the door handle behind him, but it doesn't budge. He shoves as hard as he can, but that’s not hard at all and he wishes adrenaline could do more with the lack of blood in his system. He’s shaking, he feels cold. He’s not sure he’s going to outlast the seat belt anyways. 

He desperately crawls over to the other door, and but he isn't strong enough to lift his arm to the door handle when it was already underneath him. So he sobs with his face in the cheap fabric roofing of his car. He just wanted out. He just wanted everything to go back to his shitty life. He had been through thick and thin in this car. He has spent nights in the car; nearly got frostbite when the heater broke last winter, and nearly got a heat stroke when he didn’t want to waste gas to keep the ac running. And in a bad teen magazine his sister had, he had said if he were to do die, it would be in a car accident bad enough to total him and the car. He wanted to tell his past self that he was an idiot that jinxed himself.

And then he heard the snap of the seat belt clip. At first he doesn't move. He just closes his eyes; accepts what’s coming. And then what’s coming bites into his side, and it hurts bad enough for him to do whatever in his power to get away from it; as if the only will he had to live left was just to avoid the teeth of his father. 

He rolls over, dislodging the teeth and he pushes his ‘Dad’ back with shaky hands as he tries to get his feet back under him. The thing charges another round and he kicks his dad back into his seat only for him to crawl back and grab hold of Michaels foot, his mouth wide and bloody.

A sharp pop rings through the car, and Michael wonders if he’s just gone deaf because his ‘Dad’ doesn't seem interested in the noise. It doesn’t seem interested in him anymore either.

And then he sees the clean hole in the center of his dad's skull. No. 

“Dad?” He sobs, and his knees crunch the broken glass across the roof of the car as he reaches out for his father. “Dad?!” He screams, shaking what's left of his ‘Dad’. He doesn’t respond, not with teeth or with words.

“Sir! We have a live one!” He hears a voice and the door across from him is opened and he sees a man pocket a gun. No.

“No!.” He screams, desperately trying to open the door he was up against. He needed to get out of here. He needed his Dad. He wasn’t sure how far he could run or even if he could out run these people. “No! Please!” He sobs as the man hovers over the door. “Please.” 

He can hear voices shouting around the car; there’s nowhere for him to run. So he lays in the glass and sobs.

The man in the doorway is shoved away and another figure crouches in the small opening. 

“Please.” Michael tries his own door handle again. 

“I was hoping I’d find you one of these days.” Says the familiar voice, and it reinforces Michaels sobbing as he looks to Mr. Heere, reaching an arm into the car, waiting and welcoming. Slowly, over the glass digging into his knees, he crawls to Mr.Heeres open arms. “Hey Sonni.” He says as he pulls Michael from the wreck, and black edges into his vision. His head pounded like someone was taking a hammer to it, but he clutched Mr.Heere like his life depended on it.

A few of the other scouts offer Mr.Heere help carrying Michael to the ambulance, but he never lets go.

“Mr. Heere?” One of the scouts said, but he sounded far away. He rests his head on the older mans shoulder. He was just so tired, his limbs felt like lead.

“Mr. Heere?! I think we’re losing him!” God, why were they shouting? He just wanted to take a nap.They didn't need him awake for anything.

“Michael? Michael, hey stay with us.” The last thing he heard was Mr. Heeres voice before he drifts off.

* * *

 

“How you holding up?”He says with a smile only a parent could have.

Michael just looks at the man at the end of his bed. They both knew what Michael wanted to know.

“The nurses will bring him in once he’s stable.” He promises, and speak of the devil, and he shall appear; a nurse rushed in, out of breath with worry masking his face.

Mr. Heere stands to address him with a “Woah, what’s going on? Where’s Jeremy?”

“He-” He wheezes to catch his breath. “He ran- I couldn’t keep up with him.”

“Why? Where is he?” He stepped to the nurse, his fists tight at his side, forcing him to keep a professional stature.

Another nurse rushes in behind him, even more panicked if that was possible. Michael felt as if this conversation shouldn’t be happening in his hospital room when Mountain Dew Red was still an aftertaste on his tongue. 

“He had fled through the west wing doors.” The first nurse informs before turning to the other for a recent update. 

Please say they got him, please say they got him, please say they got him.

“We sent the scouts after him, but he would run every time someone approached him. They let him be to avoid him traveling any farther from the Hospital, but they already lost sight of him. We fear he is delusional with grief.” She says, and the first nurse not so subtly looks over to Michael.

This is all your fault.

You did this.

He can’t believe you're back.

You shouldn’t have come back.

Mr. Heere steps in front of her line of sight, cutting off his judgemental gaze. Michael feels as if he was just dismissed for his crimes.

What the hell is Jeremy thinking?

He isn’t thinking?

He can’t defend himself this way.

Michael is still bed ridden and useless.

Mr. Heere looks back to Michael sitting silently in his hospital bed, wishing he didn’t play a part in any of this. He could feel the responsibility shelved back onto him with Jeremy's dads pleading look. Fuck. 

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone? Any places that you guys like to hang out at?” Mr. Heere approaches him like the nurses didn’t exist for a moment, and Michael tries just as hard to ignore them.

But they stand stock still, staring down at the boy in the hospital gown like he’s the source of the problem that’s sprouted, and they’re right. Michael had been out of touch the moment this whole shit show started.

* * *

 

“I need to go potty!” Ellie shrieks from her spot beside Michael and he can hear her awful whining through his headphones. He watches the stores pass by as he turns the volume up on his phone; his silent revenge for being forced on this unnecessary road trip.

His mother pulls off the interstate, only lengthening this mind numbing trip. Michael slumps against the window and hopes the cars vibration will scramble his brains enough where he wouldn’t be conscious to this family outing esq torture.

The loud sound of an alarm of an Amber Alert interrupts his music, so he dismisses it without reading it like that would show amber alert how bitter he was. He usually didn’t read them anyways. 

He stays in the car when the rest of his family piles out of the car. He was already moody enough that his mother didn’t trust him driving to Maryland, but decided to take  _ his  _ car anyways. His dad looks back behind his seat.

“Want anything while we’re in?” He asks with a smile that says ‘hold on, kiddo’. It’s hard to be bitter to that.

He shakes his head. “No, thanks.” He says, but he feels nicer when he says it. He watches his dad follow his mother and sister into the convenience store.

He rest his head on the glass. It’s to early to text Jeremy an update other than the  _ I’m bored out of my fucking mind, save me.  _ No, that’d be melodramatic, and he’s promised himself not to rely on Jeremy like that. He had to be prepared for round two of the squip nightmare.

His dad call him instead.

“Mi-Mi- Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He sounded frantic.

What the hell was his issue?

“What? No, I’m fine. Why?” He tries to peer into the window of the gas station from his seat in the car. Curse huge cigarette ads.

“Just- just stay there...o-okay?” He whispers into the receiver.

“What? Dad, what’s happening?” Michael says into a dead receiver. Fuck. He pockets his phone and stalks into the store.

The bell above him dings, and for a moment he can’t see anyone in the store other than a tall man walking an aisle, and now sprinting down it towards Michael. And oh, there was an ugly hole in his chest that no living person had a right to having. He came with teeth first, and Michael was frozen; lost with trying to figure out what the hell was happening. The thing twisted his head readying to get out mouthful of Michael, showing off the teeth marks on it’s cheek. Mother of God, Holy fuck, there was no way it could be real. It was just another one of his crazy zombie dreams, right? But the body slamming into him was very real, and the weight of the body thrashing against him as he barely held its teeth at bay with shaking arms.

The stranger was rolled off of him when his mother slammed down into him, sending them both crashing against the counter of the cashiers desk.

“You stay the hell away from my baby.” She grits, but no matter how tough she acted, she was overpowered and bit into. “Richard!” She calls to the aisles as the rest of his family came to her aid. His father rushes towards them, ready to pull the teeth from his wife’s arm. “Get them out of here, I swear to God, run!” She redirects them, and Michael thinks no one has a right to be that brave with someone tearing into their arm.

His dad grabs him by the arm, ushering him out to the parking lot. He sees a flash of blood and hears a his mother's screaming before the door chime drowns her out. He’s loaded up with Ellie and his dad speeds off. 

“Michael, michael, call the police, please.” He stops a few parking lots down.

Michael reaches into his pocket to find it empty. Who the hell puts anything remotely valuable in hoodie pockets? Fuck, fuck,fuck. 

“I- i dropped it, let me see yours.” He turns to his dad and his face mirrors Michael's own when he says,

“I dropped it when he first started losing his mind.” 

They stare at each other, before something, or someone slams into the passenger side window. The men scream, and Ellie cries. The body up against the side of the car leaves blood splatter at it hits against the window uselessly.

“We gotta get out of here!” Michael shouts as his dad speeds off. Ellie doesn’t stop crying.

“Ellie,” Michael shushes as his dad races down the interstate with the traffic that has no idea of the oncoming storm. “Hey, it’s okay, we’re okay.” He lies.

“It hurts.” She cries, thick crocodile tears running down her face. 

“I know, I know, but Mommy will be in a better place, okay?” He tries, knowing there no way in hell to make her feel better about this.

“No, it  _ hurts. _ ” She insists as she pulls up her sleeve. There’s a perfect imprint of a row of teeth on her forearm.

Fuck.

* * *

 

He wasn’t meant to make it this far.

He wasn’t meant to be a part of this world, but somehow he managed to keep going if only by the persistence of others.

“The Basement.” Michael answers Mr. Heere, because Jeremy will continue to be a part of this world, if only by the persistence of others.

“Get him ready to go. I’ll get a vehicle ready.” Mr. Heere says to the nurses and they glance to each other comically.

“But-”

“He’s still on bed rest.” They both tried to excuse.

“Is he well enough to ride in a car?” He asks irritably, as if their only option was obvious. They don’t answer him. “You said it yourself. He’s delusional with grief. Michael is the only one he  _ wouldn’t  _ run from.” He specifies. “No get him ready, the car will be at the west wing doors, waiting.” And Mr. Heere leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update is 10/29


	8. Level Eight : Player Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's take a few steps back and take this in Jeremys POV, running from the scouters and plagued with grief over something he can't comprehend as real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If pay close attention to the flashbacks, you can tell where Jeremy is as he travels

It had taken a long time for Jeremy to comes to terms with the hurt the Squip had caused him. It was hard to acknowledge when Michael was sometimes a ghost of himself, and someone had to pay for the hurt that Michael had gone through. It was simple cause and effect. All the people that he had hurt; he had to pay for what he did. He believed he was paying with all the misfortune and the second conscious. He had believed he deserved what had happened to him for a long time. 

It wasn’t until he had a friendly debate with Rich that had turned personal. 

Rich was in a higher tier of responsible than Jeremy was. Christine, Jeanna, Chloe, Brooke, Jake, and the rest of the fucking student body had been hurt. They could name the exact reasons they hated themselves thanks to that stupid pill, and by extension Jeremy. And then the line of responsibility goes on to Jeremy's squip, then to Rich, who had suggested that awful idea, and onto his squip who had insisted that Jeremy would be interested in possibly ruining his own life. 

It always lead back to the squip when it came to blaming. Jeremy couldn’t name anything he did in those agonizing months that wasn’t influenced by the fear of being shocked like a misbehaving dog.

The logic was easy to agree with, especially when Rich blamed himself for Jeremy's ‘payment’. It took longer to not instantly feel guilty when Chloe would always apologize even when she only brushed his shoulder or Michael would call when Jeremy doesn’t answer his texts in under thirty minutes despite how much he hated phone calls. Eventually he would only feel guilty for bringing something so awful into their lives. It was the squips fault, but that doesn't change the fact that he introduced that shitty thing to the equation. 

“Sorry.” He still found himself apologizing anyways.

“I’m not upset.” Michael says over the receiver as if Jeremy didn’t already know that. Michael had to adapt to Jeremy's blindness to social cues early on. If Jeremy had upset him, he had to tell him, other wise Jeremy would stay in the dark as to how to make it better. Michael had to learn early on how to voice what he was feeling. Until now. Now he falls silent on bad days, and it’s Michael who it leaving text messages unanswered like radio static. Jeremy had learned a little social cues to know that it wasn’t normal. That Michael would work himself up or Jeremy would upset him, and he would avoid venting at all costs. So he would disappear until he knew he was happy friend material that not even a squip would deny.

“I know, but you’re paranoid.” Jeremy responds and the other line goes silent. “I- That was insensitive. I- ah- I worry about you. You don’t talk about yourself much anymore.” Jeremy decides to be honest. Although, he he were to tell the whole truth, he knew Michael had an awful habit of oversharing when it was to a face he couldn’t see. If this wouldn’t work, he would seriously consider making a fake kik account. 

“I don’t want to seem desperate.” Michael gives.

“What? No! No, it’s not desperate at all! I want to be there for you. I want to fix what I fucked up.” Jeremy tries to stick his foot in the metaphorical door and hopes he doesn’t get the door slammed in his face. He’s afraid of the static silence of an upset Michael.

“I’m scared to.” Michael caves and Jeremy is let in the metaphorical door of Michaels feelings for this round. Jeremy wins over Michaels pride, at least for this round.

“I can totally get that. I- I don’t actually know how to prove to you that I can’t ever ditch you again. I- actually…” Jeremy shuffles to dig into his old piggy bank.

“Actually…” Michael prompts.

“I think I’m ready for the other half of the pacman tattoo.” Jeremy grins into the receiver. He was a genius. He was so proud of the idea it made him forget his fear of needles. 

“That shits forever, man. You sure? You chickened out when I got mine.” Michael tries not to pressure him.

“Yeah, yeah. Because I’m never gonna chicken out on you again!” Jeremy declares.

“I’m gonna remember that next time I want you to play Amnesia.”

“God, fuck no. That’s not chickening out, that having  _ limits.”  _

Michael laughs on the other end.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Michael tries one more time, as if he was sure Jeremy was just offering the idea to make him feel better.

“As long as you come with me and tell everyone that I didn’t cry.” Jeremy tries to sound serious.

“You’re expecting me to lie?” He can hear the smile on Michaels smile.

“Michael.” He whines.

“Alright, alright. You drive a hard bargain.” He pauses. “Can I tell your dad you cried like a little bitch?” He tries to compromise.

“You can tell him the  _ truth _ .”

“That’s what I said.” 

“Fuck you.”

Michael laughs louder than he’s heard in awhile.

* * *

 

He rubs at his inner arm where the blue ghost sits in ink, permanently staining his skin with Michael's memory. 

He can’t help the feeling that he had always had it, and Michael along with the civilized world was just a happy fever dream. While he can still clearly remember the life he had before this, it gives of a feeling that it wasn’t ever real. Just a dream he remembered detail for detail.

* * *

 

He hadn’t expected to wake up in the hospital after it all. It honestly felt like a bit much, but he supposes Michael was right with the kind of damage that thing causes. He had felt like he had been hit by a bus. Multiple times. It didn’t fit with his memory of the thing shocking him. The feeling of that pill tearing his body apart didn’t match up to the feeling his bones in the wrong places in his body.

It had made him wonder if he had actually got hit by a bus. Michael had walked in like Jeremy hadn’t ditched him like junior high break up. Maybe he did get hit by a bus and the squip was just a coma dream. Maybe he hadn’t almost ruined his own life. 

But Rich was bandaged up beside him, talking about a happy hive mind, and Michaels expression could was more restrained than what it would be if Jeremy had just woken up from being hit by bus multiple times. God dammit, he fucked up for real.

* * *

 

He can hear Rich shouting behind him.

“Jeremy?!” He’s far enough away, he can’t see him just as Jeremy can’t see him.

* * *

 

Michael offers to give him a ride to school. Which is odd because he has to pass up the school to even get to Jeremys house. He was just so far out of the way, it was an agreement that while Michael would pick Jeremy up if he asks, or if he was having a bad morning, or any sort of excuse. It wasn’t a common thing because it was a waste of gas. 

Here recently Michael is nicer to Jeremy when he has bad days. Which is weird. Jeremy is used to Michael shutting the world out and keeping his head low without a bounce in his step on his bad days. Now it was a fake happiness and forced kindness to Jeremy. The source of the bad day is what makes Jeremy feel guilty. Michael doesn’t have to earn his friendship, and somedays Michael forgets that.

He doesn’t turn the offer down so Michael doesn’t get the wrong idea. Instead,

“Can we stop at 7/11?” Jeremy types and it was exactly a minute before he gets a response. Michael had timed it and he knows it. Jeremy hated being hyper aware of Michaels antics.

“I like the way you think”

Jeremy makes a point of buying Michael breakfast as payment.

* * *

 

He has only fallen down Michael stairs  _ once,  _ and to be fair, he doesn't remember it. If it weren’t for the dark bruises on his legs and arms and the pounding headache of his hangover he wouldn’t have believed Michael. He had gone to one of Jake's parties, one of which he hadn’t have thought to invite Michael first, or better yet; tell him that he wouldn’t be making it to their Friday all nighters.

He remembers the tears that Michael denied; it was conversation he refused to have with Jeremy while he was drunk, and it was conversation Michael dismissed in the morning in his quest to be a perfect friend for Jeremy. 

Jeremy hated himself for taking that get out of jail free pass. God, he was an asshole and a coward.

* * *

 

He wonders if he were a better friend, would anything had turned out differently? Or at least, would he feel less guilty?

* * *

 

He and Michael would share everything, and tell their stories with every gross detail attached. How Michaels pasta diarrhea looks exactly like the schools stroganoff. How Jeremy had peed in a pringles can because it was one at night at the bathroom was just too far away. They told each other everything until their fallout.

He hated calling it ‘their’ fallout as if Michael had pulled away just as he had; it blamed Michael for something he was victim to. But the personal stories stopped. Jeremy never said a word about what had happened with Chloe, or the things that pill had made him say, or the shocking. He kept his sleeves to his jacket down, and Michael never pushed it. He could rely on the new Michael to not tread onto thin ice. No matter how lonely Jeremy was on his little metaphorical island. Michael never explained what he did while Jeremy was gone, but he always kept his sleeves to his jacket down. He relied on the new Jeremy's guilt to not tread on thin ice, no matter the isolation.

They shared everything, and then they couldn’t even talk their feelings out because they were terrified of the other leaving. They both got a taste on the world without the other when they have been tied to the hip for as long as either of them could remember. They were terrified of going back to that and they were going to give the other no reason to leave.

* * *

 

Jeremy used to go to Michael's room on bad days. It was a lot like going home after a long trip and Michael would let him just curl up in bed and take in the atmosphere he had built. It was like they were a part of each other. If one half was broken, you would rely on the other.

He remembers the first bad day after the squip where he was allowed a retreat back into the basement. It was after he got out of the hospital when Michael was still Michael enough to show that he had been upset by what had all happened. Jeremy wishes he was brave enough to break the silence back then. He wishes he would’ve talked to him then instead of letting MIchael become an ass-kissing shell of himself. 

Michael didn’t have the heart to turn him down, so Jeremy curled into the blankets that didn’t have a hint of his own smell to it. It smelled like Michael and laundry detergent. The whole room did. All their pictures had been taken down, and it was like Jeremy has never existed in this room. The only proof of Jeremy's presence in the room was Jeremy himself.

Michael had acted like it was a privilege to have Jeremy back, as if he had been punished for something he didn’t even know he did. He offered Jeremy hot cocoa instead of laying on top of him and try to force Jeremys soul back into his body.

He could really use that right now. He needed the pressure to hold him together at least for a little while, but Michael gave him a clear two foot bubble unless he was handing him something, and Jeremy didn’t dare bring it up.

* * *

 

The blankets held onto the hint of Michael and he knew that curling up into them will overpower the smell with a Jeremy. He needed to be laid on. But instead he rolls onto his side and cries into Michael's pillow.

God, he’s such a peice of shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes I know this a little sad, but I promised a happy ending (I also have a major character death tag and DEH crossover and those two tags are related. So it's prolly gonna get way sadder before the happy ending.) Last update is Halloween Morning!


	9. Level Nine : Two Halves Of A Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael relives his run in with a few survivors and how he got his gunshot wounds on the way to bring Jeremy home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to stay true to the Major Character Death tag, and since Michael survived (and I couldn't kill Jere),I needed another major charecter, sorry in advance.

Being able to shoot a gun and knowing how to shoot a gun where two very different things. Michael had been lucky to run into Evan when he did, or more like Evan was incredibly lucky Michael tripped over him running from a hoard of dead jackasses. Evan had an unfortunate habit of panicking and when he’s in that state of mind and he has an even more unfortunate habit of running off from anyone who will back him up before freezing up. In this case, it was in a hallway, and if Michael had no conscious, he would have left the stranger in the midst of a panic attack in favor of getting the hell out of there.

It was an act of conscience, but Evans group more than welcomed him and his father when they pulled Evan out unscathed (after the initial confusion and threats from the oh-so-scary Connor). How he ended up alongside Jared in the middle of a swarm a couple days later was the least of his worries. Jared was a sharp shot who could drop the undead to their knees a hundred feet away. ‘Killer arcade games’ was what he said, but now he was empty handed, and using a knife and fists were far different in video games.

Connor comes to their rescue and knocks against a corpse climbing onto Jared and it's a careless maneuver seeing as he has to pry the thing off himself instead. Evan, who had picked up the befelled gun, found courage the aim the gun once Connor was knocked flat on his back, and Michael and Jared were to busy trying to make distance between them and the crowd to help. 

Being able to shoot a gun and knowing how to shoot a gun where two very different things. Which it why he hears the gun pop. Evan had kept shooting until the thing above Connor had dropped; along with Michael himself.

He remembers shouting. He remembers Evan taking off again.

And then it’s Evans mother (if they didn’t look exactly alike, he would have trouble deciphering which one of the boys she mothered by the way she acted) he wakes up to. He hears her excuse his father's absence because he went to go help find Evan. It’s odd because Connor is still here. Those three were inseparable other than Evans awful habit.

Heidi helps him sit up and his chest twinges.

“It’s the best I could do with such a short notice, but it should heal nicely. They didn’t go in too deep at all.” She smiles and rub his back. He shies away from her, uncomfortable. He looks around. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t wear anything constricting. Not for a while.” She says and he sinks back to his seat.

Connor looks worse for wear and antsy… more so than he usually was. He looks like he could vomit on command and even Michael can see how he’s shaking. He’s sickly pale.

“I’m going to go look for Evan.” He excuses himself before making a beeline to the door.

“I need you here. Jared and Daniel should have it covered.” She says and he pauses as if that statement had no real chance of keeping him there.

He wasn’t even planning on looking for Evan, and Michael catches on. It’s obvious by the way Connor wracks his brain with another excuse to leave, but his fogged mind is only going to get worse. He’s trying to hide so they don’t see.

“He’s bitten.” Michael says, and Connor doesn’t have the energy to look angry.

Heidi is quick, even when her eyes begin to flood with tears and the memories of how many others that have went this way. She drags him to the table where Michael had previously been laid. 

“I’m fine. There’s nothing- it’s too late.” He starts as she pulls the jacket from him. Sure enough, there's the mark torn through years of scratches. Despite Connor pale skin, his forearm is red and beginning to swell. “No, no it’s fine.” He tries. He doesn't want his arm cut off and Michael  _ really  _ can’t fault him for that.

“You’re going to have to hold him down.” She says, and Michael does as told because he knows that all she has to hold onto was that dismembering was the only chance he had. So even though Connor was begging and crying for her to stop, Michael holds his flailing arms down as Heidi begins to cut through with a small medical saw. Hearing a dying person scream is something he so desperately wants to forget.

Michael does his best to looks away, but his hands a beginning to splatter with red droplets and no matter how hard Connor was begging for her to stop before he wasn’t able to fight against Michael at all. It was as if the fight in him was pouring out faster than his blood ever could, and Michael just tries to ignore the sound of blood steadily pouring onto the floor. Heidi tries to tighten the tourniquet, but he’s still before she get’s through the bone.

She doesn’t stop, as if she could saw any faster that it would reverse time.

Michael, with hands free with an unfighting patient, he does what any sensible person would do when he hears a limb plop to the floor, he checks Connor pulse.

Fuck.

He stands so quickly the world spins, but he wipes at his hands where he had touched a corpse. His hands are stained with blood that is still warm. Connor was just screaming a minute ago, but the room echoes silence.

“No.” Heidi drops the saw, frantically grabbing at Connor's neck., hoping that maybe there was a pulse  _ somewhere. _ “No,no, no, no, no.” She checks again and again. She shakes Connor. “No, please. Please, I’m sorry.” She cries as she uselessly tries to tighten the tourniquet. Blood was still dripping onto the floor.

“He was going to die either way.” Michael tries to reason. His throat felt dry.

“I killed him. I killed him.” She says anyways and she pulls his limp body into her arms.

“Connor?” Jared speaks up behind him with Evan in tow, and good god, Michael did not want to see the shit show that’s about to happen.

 

Needless to say it was messy. Terribly so, but they managed to keep Evan from hauling ass out of there. In the lull of the tears, one of them had informed Heidi that Daniel had been bitten when they had been looking for Evan. His father, whom didn’t want to make the scene any bigger than it already was stood silently by Michaels side, hide his symptoms better than Connor did. 

Understandably, Heidi doesn’t even want to humor the idea. She directs them to a hospital that treated anything, and possibly they could give Michael an adequate check up on his gunshots.

* * *

 

Michael watches as houses whips by the car window as Mr.Heere speeds by. He wiggles the fingers on his right arm.

“You alright, bud?” Mr. Heere speaks up.

“Yeah, just thinking.” He replies. His arm feels awfully numb and he tries to remind himself to forget the expression Connor had when he had died.

Instead, when Mr. Heere applies the brakes to make a turn, his brain reminds his body how it felt like to be suspended between the moment Dad went through the guardrail and crashed to the ground. The feeling of everything leaving him only to come crashing back onto every square inch of his body. He can see his father's face and his unnatural expression. 

“Michael.” Mr. Heere says.

Michael can only look at him.

“C’mon bud.” He prompts as he demonstrates that maybe Michael should take a breath in. So he breaths in and everything seems to leave when he exhales. “Better?”

“Yeah, yeah...Thanks.”

He nods before exiting the car. Michael hadn’t even noticed they were here already.

 

His home was eerily quiet, and it was as if it wasn’t his home at all. It felt as if it was just a carbon copy, but the basement door creaks all the same. 

“Can you make it down those stairs?” Mr. Heere asks like he was ready to carry Michael again. Michael nods his head.

“I’ll call for you if I need you. I think I should…” He doesn’t finish the thought, but Mr. Heere nods in understanding.

“I'll be here just in case he tries to make a break for it.” He replies with a mock salute.

Mr. Heere watches as Michael descends the stairs slowly. Michael silently thanks the architect for adding a railing. Once Michael is at the end of the staircase, Mr. Heere steps away from the doorway. 

Michael can see the lump in his bed like there always is and he can practically cry. Thank fuck, he’s actually here.

“Jere?” He says and it hangs in the room. The pile of blankets shift, and the tufts of brunette hair is buried under the worn blankets.

“No.” The pile mumbles.

“I’m not leaving, Jere.” He tries again. His better conscience be damned, he had been worried sick for months over what had happened to Jeremy and he wasn't about to just give him space. Michael was done waiting.

“No, no, no. Shut up!” The pile curls up and he can see fingers digging into the brunette hair.

Michael makes the bold move of sitting on the edge of his bed and the mattress creaks under his weight. The body in the blankets nearly kicks him off as Jeremy tries to right himself and sit up far away from the other.

“Jesus, fuck, Jeremy, you scared the shit out of me.” He tries to laugh as he clutches his chest and rubs his leg where Jeremy had kicked him.

“Oh, sorry, I-” Jeremy starts out of instinct, but freezes. He doesn’t seem to know for sure if Michael is really there or not. Jeremy's eyes are red and puffy, and nose is more red than it usually is. He grips the red sleeves around him, but the jacket is repaired and is back to its original color.

“Holy shit, dude.” Michael laughs the unease out of his chest, because Jeremy looks like he’s seen a ghost and he isn’t sure how to prove that wrong. “It’s so good to see you again.”

And then he almost has to fight Jeremy off of him. He’s squeezing him so tight and he sobbing a various ‘oh my god’s, ‘i fucking love you’, and ‘im never letting you go’. 

“Easy, easy.” Michael winces and Jeremy pulls back like he’s burned Michael.”Go easy on me, alright? That car kicked my ass a little.”

Jeremy nods frantically before holding Michaels face in his hands. He seems to have problems breathing. It doesn't take much to get Jeremy to start crying again.

“Holy fuck, dude.” He sobs.

“It’s alright, Jer.” He says as he drags Jeremy head to his shoulder and Jeremy limply hangs his arms around Michael out of fear of hurting him again. 

It doesn’t take long for all this added activity to catch up to Michael.

“I’m fine, really. I just gotta lay down for a minute.” He tries to disarm the worried look on Jeremy's face before he can say anything about it. Jeremy nods, wiping his face with the sleeve of the jacket before another thought crosses mind.

“Oh, I have-” He interrupts himself as he begins to pull his arms from the red jacket.

“No, no, no, no, keep it. It suits you.” Michael responds and Jeremy pauses.

“Did you- Did you just-  _ Michael.”  _ Jeremy grins despite it all. Ah, it’s good to see that again. “Star Wars, really. See, this is why people think we’re nerds.” Jeremy can't force himself to look offended even though Michael can tell he’s trying.

Michael cracks up and every heave of laughter tugs at his chest painfully and he cuts off his fit with a wince.

“Mik-” Jeremy hovers and that smile was replaced with worry. It was nice while it lasted.

“Worth it.” He declares and there's remnants of a grin on Jeremy. Yeah, worth it.

He watches Michael with a dazed look like his attention was suddenly sucked out of him.

“Jere?” He asks and the look doesn't go away but it stirs a reaction. The reaction being, Jeremy is leaning down to plant his lips on Michaels.

It wasn’t anything new, but at the same time it was. It was like an old dream of their old friendship, and Jeremy's lips were just like they always were, warm and chapped. It had been months, and Michael thought that this was lost with what they once were. 

Jeremy shoots up and Michael is immediately missing the warmth.

“Fuck, I can’t- I can’t keep doing this.” Jeremy refuses to make eye contact and Michael wishes he had the energy to sit up. “I like you, like  _ really  _ like you, fuck, I don’t know, love maybe, just. I can’t keep-u ugh.” 

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Michael was on too many pain meds for this.

“No, no, you can.” Michael tries.

“I’m tired of these games, Michael.” Jeremy turns to him.

“It doesn’t have to be a game anymore.” Michael mumbles. “I’m head over heals for you dude.” Michael squeaks. He bits his lip to keep himself from saying anything even more embarrassing. 

“Can I?” Jeremy hesitates.

“‘Course.” Michael smiles as Jeremy leans down again, and it’s still warm and chapped. Jeremy doesn’t linger, and the separation is just as cold as it always is.

“We need to get you back to the hospital.” He says.

“Noooo, no stairs. Just let me lay here forever.” Michael whines.

“Hmmm.” Jeremy leans down, and Michael is already anticipating it, but Jeremy just plants a kiss to his forehead. “No.” He says against his face. What a fucking tease.

Jeremy looks apprehensive, as if he were trying to judge whether or not he could carry Michael up the stairs. Michael already knew the answer to that; he can’t. 

“Go get your dad, he’s upstairs.” Michael grumbled in defeat to better judgement.

 

The car ride back is longer than Michael remembered, but then again he was spacing out through the majority of it. Jeremy is passed out by his side, but he’s gripping Michael's hand tighter than sleeping kid could. Mr. Heere only gives him a couple glances through the rear view mirror, but doesn’t say a thing.

He hopes that this whole near death experience came with a silver lining. That maybe this had broken down the majority of the walls the squip had put up, and maybe a few from their original friendship. He doesn’t dwell on all that’s changed however. He finally has Jeremy back, fully this time. No more walls between him and Jeremy, no more aftermath of their fallout. They were finally ‘Michael and Jeremy’ again.

He’s just glad to be tied to Jeremy's hip again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the rough ending. I'm awful at writing endings and i didn't want it to draw on and on. Thank you guys so much for reading this all the way through, I hoped you guys enjoyed this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Please leave me your thoughts, and or feelings. I killed Connor Murphy and need to pay.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S Comments are my kink, thnks


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